iM(aiWiiiiii«iiMmffliiW'>i)Miw»tii»iirt 


L  I  B  RARY 

OF   THE 

U  N  IVLRSITY 

or    ILLINOIS 

56Z.7 
K2&S 


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UNIVERSITY    OF    ILLINOIS    LIBRARY    AT    URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


JAN  -5 


3TI 


'MOV  2  »  1P?t 

NOV   3  war 
APR  c^.jsb 

DEC  2  B  I98r 


kwwii 


J.    iu'     •■ 


MAY  03  1992 
MAY  2  0  1932 
)  4  20(12 


L161— O-1096 


THE    CHILD-MOTHER. 


STEEET   AEABS 


GUTTEE  Si^IPES. 


THE    PATHETIC    AND    HU3I0B0US    SIDE    OF    YOUNG 

VAGABOND    LIFE   IN   THE    GBEAT   CITIES, 

WITH  BECORDS    OF   WOBK   FOB 

THEIB  BECLAMATION. 


BY 

GEO.    C.    NEEDHAM, 

Author  of  "Recollections  of  Henry  Moorhouse,"  "The  True  Tabei'nacle,' 
"  Life  and  Laboks  or  C.  H.  Spukgeon,"  etc. 


BOSTON : 

D.     L.     GUERNSEY, 

1884. 


Entored  acoordinR  to  an  Art  of  Congress,  in  the  year  18a3,  by  D.  L.  Guebmbet,  in  the  Office  of  the 
Librarian  of  Congrese,  at  Washington,  D.C. 


Electroiyprd  mid  Printed  by 

.Stttnlci/  and  L'slwr, 

1 71  Devonshire  Street,  Jlostoii. 


PREFACE 


A  PREFACE  is  like  a  doorway  to  a  house,  through  whicli  the  reader 
finds  access  to  the  book.  It  also  gives  the  author  opportunity  to 
explain  or  apologize.  I  take  advantage  of  the  custom,  and,  as  I 
usher  in  the  stranger,  offer  some  explanations. 

This  book  is  a  plea  on  behalf  of  neglected  and  destitute 
children,  found  chiefly  in  our  great  cities,  and  too  often  educated 
in  crime  by  unnatural  parents  or  vicious  guardians ;  or  who, 
through  the  stress  of  circumstances,  are  forced  into  a  course  of  life 
which  tends  to  the  multiplication  of  criminals  and  the  increase 
of  the  dangerous  classes. 

.  This  evil  is  exposed  by  statement  of  fact,  by  illustrated  narrative, 
and  by  statistics.  If  public  attention  is  thereby  arrested,  and 
sufficient  proof  adduced  to  awaken  an  interest  in  child-life,  and 
enforce  a  conviction  that  thousands  of  juveniles  are  degraded 
through  neglect,  I  am  persuaded  the  tragedies  of  which  children 
form  the  chief  part  will  materially  decrease. 

A  protest  against  wrong-doing  is  one  step  in  the  right  direction ; 
a  plea  for  reform  another;  both,  however,  cover  only  a  little  of 
the  road  over  which  we  must  walk  if  we  are  alive  to  diity  and 
sensible  to  privilege.  The  practical  applications  of  proved  remedies 
go  still  beyond,  and  reach  unto  the  end  in  view  within  these  pages. 
True,  there  are  no  grand  schemes  propounded  of  universal  reform  ; 
no  novel  experiments  demanded ;  nor  are  laws  and  regulations 
recognized  as  worthy  of  world-wide  application.  Examples  are 
given  of  work  done  by  humane  organizations;  and  the  wonderful 
achievements  of  individual  enterprises  in  this  field  of  philanthropy 
are  prominently  noticed.  But  there  can  be  no  iron  hand  to  grip 
and  guide  young  vagabond  life ;  it  must  be  a  hand  of  love  tempered 
with  firmness,  guided  with  wisdom,  and  ever  outstretched  in  the 
power  of  prayer  and  faith. 


iv  PBEFACE. 

I  EAfTORATiox.  as    one    important     sclieuK'. — pei'liaps     tlie     most 

I  lu'ljitul  of  all, — -is  earnestly  commended.  Having  Avatched  its 
V  manifold  workings,  I  mnst  testif}'  to  its  beneficent  resvilts.  Many 
of  the  harrowing  scenes  depicted  within  these  pages,  and  of  the 
marvelous  transformations  effected,  have  come  under  my  personal 
observation.  Emigration  as  an  antidote  to  overcrowding  is  fast 
becoming  a  doctrine  with  man}-  philanthropists ;  as  also  it  is 
becoming  a  growing  conviction  that  rhild  reclamation  is  a  more 
important  consideration  than  adult  reformation.  If  the  same 
])roportionate  ability,  perseverance,  and  capital  be  invested  in 
working  tliese  "Arab''  mines,  which  are  given  to  the  claims  of 
degraded  men  and  women,  there  will  surely  be  a  better  and  surer 
return.  Not  to  call  attention  from  any  legitimate  method  to  save 
the  lost  are  these  lines  written,  l>ut  the  rather  to  encourage 
C'hristian  labor  in  all  departments.  The  salvation  of  the  children 
V  in  this  generation  ensures  the  salvation  of  the  parents  in  the  next; 
so  also  the  elevation  of  degraded  adults  now  will  i^ro^e  of  inestim- 
able value  to  children  yet  unborn.  But  who  is  sufficient  for 
these  things?  The  old  ])roverb,  '^Prayers  and  pains  will  do  any- 
thing,'' holds  within  it  the  true  secret.  In  this  work  especially 
both  must  be  given  without  stint ;  supplications  and  self-denials 
])oured  out  without  measure  must  and  will  prevail. 

"  Xo  caprice  of  niiml, 
No  passing  influence  of  idle  time, 
No  popular  sliow,  no  clamor  fi'om  the  crowd, 
Can  move  him  erring  from  tlie  right." 

How  much  better  to  prevent  a  fall  than  employ  an  ambulance; 
how  much  pleasanter  to  escort  an  emigrant  than  to  attend  a  funeral. 
There  are  around  us  in  our  Making  hours,  and  haunting  us  in  our 
sleep,  men  and  women,  out  of  whose  eyes,  like  decaying  wood, 
gleams  the  dying  soul,  Avhose  existence  is  a  travesty  on  life,  whose 
death  CA'er  hasteneth,  Avhose  childhood  was  capable  of  reclamation 
in  days  of  comparative  innocence,  Avhile  vice  had  not  as  yet  ossified 
the  heart,  nor  unltridlcd  lust  destroyed  forever  the  finer  sensibilities; 
but  shall  it  be  said  fliat  no  man  caved  for  them?  Even  so. 
Christian  Charity  never  .sought,  or,  at  least,  neA'er  found  them ;  for 
if  she  found  she  would  surely  saA^e ;  and  now,  in  premature  decay, 


PREFACE.  V 

in  swift-consuming  corruption,  Hope  stands  aghast  witli  melancholy 
forebodings,  rendering  the  little  service  left  to  be  done,  becanse  of 
limited  opijortunites,  in  preparing  a  shroud  and  a  grave ;  and,  with 
the  awful  hush  creeping  over  her  of  a  consciousness  that  Neglect 
had  defeated  Charity  in  an  attemjit  to  save  these  subjects  in  earlier 
years,  she  buries  in  silence  the  disfigured  body  of  Death,  which 
might  have  been,  which  ought  to  have  been,  a  transfigured  temple 
full  of  life  and  light  through  tlie  indwelling  of  holiness  and 
love. 

I  plead  guilty  with  an  old  writer :  '"  I  am  but  a  gatherer  and 
disposer  of  other  men's  stuff."  I  have  culled  freely  from  many 
a  garden  ;  others  have  grown  the  flowers,  I  have  simply  prepared 
the  boiiquet ;  none  the  less  acceptable,  I  hope,  that  the  flowers  are 
natural  and  homelike.  There  are  those  who  have  long  labored  with 
street-children  whose  experience  entitles  them  to  a  universal  hearing 
in  their  pleadings  for  the  little  ones.  I  have  neither  disguised  nor 
recast  their  utterances.  They  speak  for  themselves  ;  having  done 
little  more  than  the  silent  rock,  I  re-echo  their  teachings,  and  with 
literal  exactness. 

The  sensationalism  of  the  book  arises  from  the  tragic  conditions 
detailed ;  the  grim  facts  set  before  us  are  indeed  sensational  of 
themselves,  nor  is  there  need  to  borrow  from  the  artificialitj'  of 
unrealism  to  excite  or  surjjrise. 

Many  of  the  engravings  are  taken  from  photographs  which  show 
at  a  glance  the  contrasts  of  the  "  Arabs  "  in  the  city,  and  the  same 
"  Arabs  "  in  the  country  ;  between  vice  and  virtue  ;  between  idleness 
and  industry.  The  publisher  has  spared  no  expense  in  procuring 
suitalile  illustrations  ;  Mr.  C.  L.  Brace,  of  the  New  York  Children's 
Aid  Society,  kindl}^  consented  that  we  use  the  plates  from  his  book,, 
"  The  Dangerous  Classes  of  New  York  "  ;  Miss  MacPherson  and 
Miss  Bilbrough  permitted  us  to  use  photographs  of  their  children ; 
while  Dr.  Barnardo's  "Night  and  Day  "supplied  us  with  several 
subjects  of  interest; — to  all  of    whom  we  feel  greatly   indebted. 

After  sending  our  final  chapter  t5  the  printer,  two  additional 
books  came  to  hand  which  are  worthy  of  study :  "  Organized 
Charities,"  by  Mrs.  James  T.  Fields,  and  "Traps  for  the  Young," 
by  Mr.  Anthony  Comstock.     These  do  not  deal  exclusively  with  the 


vi  PREFACE. 

subject  of  Street  Arabs,  but  iucidentally  aiicl  i)Owerfully  show  how 
such  are  made  and  reclaimed.  "  Traps  for  the  Young  "  should  be 
\j  carefully  read  by  all  ])arents,  teachers,  and  philanthropists.  Had 
we  received  this  book  earlier  while  writing  chapter  third  on  "  Arabs' 
Academies,"  we  sh<nild  extract  from  it  a  few  telling  passages  which 
relate  to  vicious  literature. 

We  are  one  with  Mr.  Comstock  in  his  exposure  of  tliis  national 
Idight.  "  Evil  reading  debases,  degrades,  perverts,  and  turns  away 
from  lofty  aims,to  follow  examples  of  corruption  and  criminality." 
\  Again:  "The  community  is  cursed  by  pernicious  literature. 
Ignorance  as  to  its  debasing  character  in  numerous  instances,  and 
an  indifference  that  is  disgraceful  in  others,  tolerate  and  sanction 
this  evil."  After  many  years  of  warring  with  crime  this  judicious 
officer  remarks  :  ''  I  have  one  clear  conviction,  namely,  that  Satan 
hn/s  fJie  snare,  and  children  arc  his  virthns.''  "Light  literature, 
\^  then,  is  a  devil-trap,  to  captivate  the  child  by  perverting  taste  and 
fancy."  Of  the  half-dime  novels  and  story  papers,  lie  speaks 
freely.  ••  The  finest  fruits  of  civilization  are  consumed  l»y  these 
vermin.  Nay,  tlu-sc  products  of  corrupt  minds  are  the  eggs  from 
wliich  all  kinds  of  villainies  are  hatched.  Put  the  entire  batch  of 
these  stories  together,  and  I  challenge  the  publishers  and  A'enders  to 
show  a  single  instance  where  any  boy  or  girl  has  been  elevated  in 
inorals,  or  where  any  noble  or  refilled  instinct  has  been  developed 
by  them." 

Let  children,  then,  in  the  tenderness  of  their  years,  while  habits 
\,  are  unformed,  and  their  natures  are  still  plastic,  call  out  our  wisest 
legislation  and  l>est  efforts  both  to  shield  and  save  them.  Hark  to 
their  plaintive  wail :  — 

"  Do  not  siuiiii  iiu', 
III  my  )n-ayci-; 

For  this  wamloriiig,  ever  lon^'er,  evermore 
Hatli  overborne  me, 
Anil  I  know  not  in  Avhat  shore 
I  luiiy  rest  from  my  desiiair." 


:  c .  yOiQ.jL,a^ 


Elim  Cottage,  ]\Iancliester-l)3--tl)e-Sea,  Mass. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   I. 

DULY   QUALIFIED. 

The  Title  "Arab."'  — The  Arab  of  the  Desert.  —  Desert  and 
City  Bedouins. —Gutter  Snipes. —  Waifs. —Children  Excite 
Curiosity.  —  My  First  Waif.  —  Society's  Darkest  Woes.  —  Per- 
verted Charity.  —  An  Irish  Widow. — The  Little  Black-ej^ed 
Girl.  —  Gone  for  a  Watch.  —  "A  Being  of  Beauty  and  a  Joy 
Forever."  —  "Nobody's  Children." — Poor  Tom. — Tom  in  the 
Carriage.  —  The  Frightened  Lady.  —  Drunken  Sal.  —  "  Lem  me 
Out!"  —  Tom's  New  Suit.  —  Tom's  Breakfast.  —  Tom's  Home..     21 

CHAPTER   II. 

SURPRISES. 

Pleasure  of  Surprises.  —  "Be  You  God's  Wife?"  —  Crackling's 
Secret.  —  Watching  Customers.  —  "  Plain  Plum  or  Curran"  ?  "  — 
Bolting  a  Choice  Morsel.  —  "  Cold  Suetty."  —  Crackling  Gone 
Mad. —The  Gaunt  Man  of  Pride.  — "God  Bless  You  for  Such 
Goodness  to  a  Stranger !  "  —  Crackling  Victimized.  —  Endless 
Freaks  and  Multiplied  Dodges.  — My  Boy,  and  Pie-Eulogy.  —  My 
Surprise.  —  "  Arabs' "  Phraseology.  —  What  is  True  Charity?. . .     39 

CHAPTER    III. 

"  ARABS'  "    ACADEMIES. 

Our  Free  Institutions.  —  The  City  of  Chicago.  —  A  Pandemonium 
of  Vice.  —  "Arab"  Literary  Ware.  —  Anthony  Comstock's  Mis- 
sion. —  Studying  tlirough  the  Window.  —  Gloating  over  Pictures. 
—  Filching  a  File  in  Order  to  Buy  a  Paper.  —  All  Should  Fight 
This  Evil.  —  Lord  Derby's  Advice.  —  Tlie  Low  Theatre. —The 
Mimic  I'aculty  Characteristic  of  Human  Nature.  —  "  I  've  Got  to 
Come  Home  Boozed."  —  Acting  to  the  Life.  —  "  The  Tipsy  Rascal 


viii  CONTENTS. 

Aged  Eiglit."  —  "She  Cried  'Murder,  Murder!""  —  The  Arrest. 
—  The  Keooneiliation.  —  Seeking  His  Pay.  —  "  Chuckiir  Hand- 
spriiigs  and  Somersets." — How  the  Joke  Tickled  Him.  — ^  How 
the  Grubby-faced  Actor  Lived.  —  "It  Was  a  Strange  Story."'  — 
The  Result  of  Visiting  Low  Theatres 55 

CHAPTER   IV. 

UNNATURAL    PARENTS. 

"  Sairey  Gamp"  and  "Mrs.  Harris."  —  Mistress  Society.  —  Suffer- 
ing Children. —  Unnatural  Parents.  —  A  Diminutive  Female. — 
•■  Now  They  Fit  Lovely.""  —  The  Poor  Old  Cobbler.  — Calling  on 
Crispin.  —  "He  Did  Pretty  Well  as  a  'Translator.'""  —  '•That"s 
Her  Cuss  and  Mine  too."" — The  Drunken  Wife. — The  Relieving 
Officer's  Discovery.  —  A  Healthy  Child  Reduced  to  Seventy 
Ounces.  —  Terrible  Tragedies.  —  Stepmothers.  —  Darlv  Deeds.  — 
"It  Xever  Had  a  Garment."" — Bacchus  and  Moloch. — ^The 
Ravages  of  Drunkenness.  —  Royalty  Among  the  Lowly.  —  ""My 
Heart  is  Mos"  Bruck."  —  The  Three  Woolly  Black  Heads.  — 
••Five  Cents  a  Sack  for  Her  Work."" — '•  Mudder,  Let  "s  Go.""  — 
The  Bath,  Clothing,  and  AVarm  Soup 7i 

CHAPTER    V. 

SHIRKERS    AND    HEROES. 

Temjjorary  Employment  Provided.  —  Plan  of  Operations.  —  A  Pair 
of  Shirkers.  —  "  Charley,  I  "m  Open  to  be  Converted."  —  Like 
the  Wriggle  of  a  Homeless  Dog.  —  '•Sleepin'  on  a  Hempty 
Stomach."  —  Objections  to  Work.  —  ••  Is  this  Your  Bloomin' 
House  of  Labor?""  —  Description  of  a  "Rough."' — Heroes. — 
The  Crossing-Sweeper.  —  Squeaker  and  Poll.  —  Porkej-"s  Precious 
Trick.  —  "I'm  the  Father,  She's  the  Motlier."'  —  Papers  and 
Lights  by  Turns.  —  ••Poll  Earns  More  "ii  I  Do.""  —  Charlej'"s 
Sudden  Alarm.  —  The  Reason  Wliy S)G 

CHAPTER   VI. 

"  WAYS    THAT    ARE    DARK." 

"  Arabs  "'     Wonderfully     Inventive.  —  The    Potato-man.  —  '•  Like 

Ajax  Defying  the  Lightning."  —  "  Arabs""  are  Disappointing. — 

•Sharp   and   Sly.  —  Juvenile   Offenders.  —  Stealing  a  Jacket.  —  A 


CONTENTS.  ix 

Public-house  Robbery.  — Three  Bad  Boys.  —  The  Donation  Box. 

—  Bobbing  a  Bather.  — Digging  up  a  Diseased  Cow.  — Drowning 
a  Brother.  —  Carrotty  Joe.  — Tlie  Slice  of  Luck.  — ^  "  I  goes  in  for 
New  Inwentions. "  —  "  Japan  Paper  Pair-o'-sauls."  —  The  Ruined 
Lucifer-Man. — The  Spill. — Tlae  AVliite-faced  Blacking-Seller. — 
Jollying. —  "Wallopin"."— The  Visit.  — "A  Chip  of  the  Old 
Block."'  — "An  Idle  Warmint."  —  The  "  Pints."  — Hair  and 
Ears 113 

CHAPTER    VII. 

LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Boys'  Noses.  —  Parrots  and  Pugs  Predominate. — "Arabs'""  Cos- 
tumes.—  The  Truant  Scholar.  —  Mr.  Spurgeon  and  the  Orphan. 

—  Not  Enough  of  Dirt  to  Make  a  Minister.  —  Deacon  Day.  tlie 
Cooper.  —  How  to  Manage  Hot  Soup.  — "  A  Home  for  Pups.""  — 
How  to  Discover  a  Pickpocket.  — "'  The  Firm  's  Busted."  — •  Hdw 
to  Manage    Incorrigibles. — ^A  New  Yoi'k  Venerable   Atom. — 

."■  Wee  Davy."  —  Davj^  a  Bore.  — ^Davy  and  His  Grandmother.  — 
The  Doctor's  Sermon  to  Davy.  —  The  Train  and  the  Ticket.  — 
Davy  Dying. — Davy's   Saviour. — Poem  on  Outcast  Waifs--.   134 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

WOMAN    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

Women  Philanthropists.  —  Female  Novelists.  —  ''Too  Dreadful  to 
Know  of."'  —  Desolating  Individualism.  — The  Swift  and  Teri-ible 
Nemesis. — Save  the  Children. — The  Bristol  Plan.  —  How  Five 
Thousand  Girls  were  Saved. — How  Girls  are  Decoyed. — The 
•'Black  Kitten."  —  Best  Methods  of  Reclamation.  — ^The  "  Female 
Brethren.*"- The  Dissipated  Old  Bachelor  of  Eight.  — "All 
Progress  Begins  with  a  Sense  of  Sin."' — A  Disagreeable  Subject. — 
Sky-high  Christianity.  — Saving  Soul  and  Body.  — Spanisli  Gypsy 
Mothers.  — -  The  Old  Thatcher.  —  Experience  of  a  London 
Barrister.  —  Our  Factory  Population.  —  Saint's  Day  and  Sinner"s 
Day.  —  Free-Lovers  Sowing  their  Evil  Seed.  —  Self-sacrifice 
Demanded 153 

CHAPTER   IX. 

PERSONAL    EFFORT. 

Story  of  Little  Mary.  —  Victor  Hugo"s  Description  of  tlie  "  Ai-ab.""  — 
"  The  Pretty  Picture."  —  "  Ma'am,  it  would  make  a  Gentleman  of 


X  CONTEXTS. 

iiie."' — Omnipotency  of  Faith.  —  God's  Little  Girl.  —  Selling  his 
Son.  — The  Kunawaj'  Pig.  —  When  Polly  was  Tight.  —  A  Little 
"Wild  Savage. — The  Beautiful  Moon.  —  CoiTuption  of  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  —  Mary's  Conscience  Finally  Reached.  —  Asking 
Forgiveness.  —  Mary's  Changed  Conduct.  —  Her  Prayers.  — 
Taken  Home. — The  Moral  Precipice.  —  "I  Serve."  —  "Little 
Flower  "  and  the  Teacher's  Grave.  —  My  Bright-eyed  Child.  — 
"  Have  i  ou?  " 175 

CHAPTER    X. 

HARD    EXPEEIENCES. 

Child-life  Endangered.  —  The  Water-dog.  —  Who  are  the  Neglected 
Ones'? — "•  Patsey  the  Dog.'" — The  Storj'  of  Bai-nardo's  Rescue 
Work.  —  First  Efforts.  —  The  Startling  Discovery.  ^ — Sleeping- 
Out. —  Taught  Useful  'J'rades.  —  Increasing  Facilities  for  Boys 
and  Girls.  —  '-The  Edinboro'  Castle." — The  Singing-Class. — 
Ginger,  Jumbo.  Parrot,  and  Croppy.  —  Pummelled  by  Police- 
men. —  A  Sorrowing  Mother.  —  S])ecimen  Cases  of  Poor  Girls.  — 
Numbers  1,  2.  ;^.  4.  —  City  Missiouar}'  Experiences.  — Description 
of  a  Tramp's  Lodging-House. — One-eyed  Joey. — Joey's  Religion. 

—  Joey's  Singular  Gift.  — The  Girl's  Affecting  History.  — Joey's 
Honorable  Stratagem.  —  Difficulty  of  Finding  Employment  for 
Discharged  Prisoners.  —  From  Despair  to  Hope. — An  AU-Suffi- 
cient  Remedy. — How  to  reach  the  Mountain-Top?  —  The  Stair- 
waj' and  the  Elevator.—  How  to  reach  the  "Arabs"  en  masse? 

—  Mr.  George  IL  Stuart  and  the  Little  Girl?  — The  Twelve 
Lost  Girls 19!t 

CHAPTER    XI. 

A   COMMENDABLE    WOIIK. 

Workers  Not  Alone.  —  Cliaritable  Institutions,  where  Found. —  The 
Clnidren's  Aid  Society.  —  Annual  Report.  —  Criminal  Gangs 
broken  up.  —  Object  of  the  Societ}'.  — Industrial  Schools.  —  De- 
crease of  Feminine  Crime.  —  Great  Obstacles.  —  Italian  Children. 

—  The  Summer  Home. — Lodging-IIouses. — Economy  of  the 
Society.  —  Interesting  Statistics. — Occupations  of  Pupils.  —  In 
Winter  Many  come  Barefooted.  — Ladies  at  Work.  — Principle  of 
Teacliing.  —  Kindergartens  and  Creches.  —  Night-Schools.  — For- 
eign Children,  how  Treated.  —  Germans,  Bt)liemians,  Italians. — 
Exhibitions  and  Recreations. — The  Sunnner  Home.  —  How  tlie 
Cliildren  Enjoy  it.  —  Xuuiber  Benelited.  —  Enormous  Appetites. 


COXTEXTS.  xi 

—  Plans  for  Enlargement.  —  This  Noble  Charity  has  a  Higher 
Destiny.  —  Interesting-  Letter  from  Dr.  Skinner.  —  Sources  of  En- 
joyment. —  Rusticating.  —  Their  Jolly  Song.  —  Batliing.  —  Prin- 
ciples of   Government.  —  Dining-Tables.  —  Their  Favorite  Song. 

—  Xewsboys  Lodging-IIousc.  —  Eepresentatives  from  Every- 
where.—  Former  Boys  Now  in  Middle  Life. — Newsboys' 
"  Hotel .''  —  Sunday  Services.  —  Girls"  Lodging-House.  —  The 
Laundry.  —Illustrative  Cases.  — Western  Attractions.  — Western 
Experiences 237 

CHAPTER   XII. 

EMIGRATION. 

The  Home  Rather  than  the  Asylum.  —  Benefits  of  the  Western 
Farm.  —  Promiscuous  Emigration.  —  Miss  Annie  Macpherson. — 
A  Diamond  Picker.  —  Brain  and  Muscle.  —  Contrasts.  —  Indi- 
vidual Enterprise. —  "A  Home  and  a  Hearty  Welcome."' — Prac-  . 
tical  Questions.  —  Canadian  Farmers. —"Arabs "  not  Little 
Angels.  — Blessings  of  Emigi-ation.  — Illustrative  Cases. — -Annie 
and  the  Drunken  Villain.  —  Testimony  of  the  late  Sir  Charles 
Reed.  — Another  Sister  of  Merc}'. — Rev.  J.  Macpherson.  —  Good 
Training.  —  A  Great  Wish.  —  Lord  Cavan.  ^ — The  Demand  for 
Children.  —  Mr.  Henry  Varley. — "A  Large,  Fat,  Beautiful 
Goose!""  —  A  Montreal  Merchant"s  Letter. — -Preparatory  Work 
in  England.  —  Boys  and  Girls  Needed  in  Canada.  —  Room  and  a 
Hearty  Welcome.  —  The  Liverpool  Scheme.  —  Mj'  Opinion  of 
Emigration.  —  The  Pilgrim  Fathers.  —  New  York  State"s  Penal 
Code.  —  Systematic  Emigration.  —  "  Waiting  and  Watching  "...  280 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

TRANSPLANTATIONS. 

The  Plant  and  Human  Life.  —  A  AVestern  Farmei's  Letter.  —  Once  a 
NcAV  York  Pauper.  —  How  William  and  Mary  Lived. — The 
Frozen  Nose.  —  How  thev  Now  Live.  —The  Drunken  Mother.  — 
The  Good  Warlv  Opposed.  —  Train-Wreckers.  —  From  the  Or- 
phanage to  the  Bench. — Lucy  is  a  Very  Nice  Girl, — Fortunate 
'"Arabs."  —  "Arabs"  Owning  Farms. — -William  F.  an  M.D. — 
An  Orphan"s  Career.  —  A  Stenographer,  a  Musician,  and  a  Drug- 
gist. • —  Great  Emigration  of  Children  from  New  York.  —  One 
Society's  Report  for  1882  numbers  3,957.  —Pluck  of  G.  W.  S.  — 
A  Grateful  Girl.  —  A  Fortunate  Condition  in  Life. — Illustrative 


xii  COXTEXTS. 

Cases.  —  ••  I  Love  these  Friendless  Childien  for  Jesus' Sake."  — 
Miss  Bilbrouii;h.  —  For  Five  Years  a  Street-Singer.  —  Toninij^  and 
Freddy 313 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

TIIANSFORMATIONS. 

The  Canny  Scotch  Shepherd.  —  Human  Pearls. — Future  Transfig- 
uration. —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  Grattan  Guinness.  —  Charley  Maciuba 
Sitwana.  —  Natural  Pantomime.  —  Clotlies  -'Too  HeaA^y!  too 
Hot!'' — Thirst  for  Knowledge.  —  "'My  Nose  is  Very  HI."  — 
"  Give  Wife  and  Monev!  well!  well!''  —  Hearing  of  the  White 
Animals.  — Going  to  See  the  World.  — Description  of  Kaffir  Life. 
— ^The  German  Missionary.  —  Worshiping  the  Serpent.  —  Kaffir 
Code  of  Morality.  —  The  Deserters. — Great  London.  —  King 
Coftee.  —  A  Cruel  Deception.  —  Charlie's  Teetotalism.  —  Search- 
ing for  Utjebaz  Ujojo. — The  Brothers  Meet. — Charlie  a  Heal 
Missionary. — Dublin  "Arabs."  —  The  Little  Irish  Boy.  —  The 
Pass-ticket. — '"John  Three  Sixteen." — His  New  Name. ^ The 
Boy's  Delirium. — The    ••  Something  Else.'' — The  Nun's  Beads. 

—  The  Young  Missionary. — How  Poor  Children  Suffer. — 
"Billy's  Dead."— Nell's  Idea  of  Heaven. —The  Garret  Bleak 
and  Bare. — Nell  Seeking  the  Eose.  —  "Just  a  Rose  to  take  to 
Bill."  — The  Fretful  Lady.  — "  Billy  "s  Dead,  so  is  Billy's  Sister 
Nell" 349 

CHAPTER   XV. 

INDIVIDUAL    EFFORT. 

The  Horse-leech.  —  Over  Sixty  Thousaiid  A'ictiiiis  of  Intemperance. 

—  Laodicean  IndifTerencc. — A  lioll  of  Distinguislied  Names. — 
Personal  Eft'ort. — Where  are  the  Boasted  Clianipions  of  Infidelity? 

—  Christian  Slavery  ('?)  —  "  Survival  of  the  Fittest."  —  Resolu- 
tion of  a  Barefoot  Boy.  —  Single-hearted  Devotedness.  — The  Or- 
phan Homes  of  Scotland.  —  Rescue  of  Two  Thousand  Children. 

—  Opposed  to  Endowments.  —  Children  at  Play.  —  The  Home 
Idea  Fully  Carried  Out.  —  A  Ship  upon  the  Meadow.  —Canadian 
Farmers  and  Scotch  Children.  — Getting  Equipped  for  the  Jour- 
ney. —  Personal  Attention  Recjuired.  — Only  One  Hour  for  Per- 
son:d  Business.  — Three  Hundred  Tliousand  Dollars  in  Answer  to 
Prayer. — The  City  Home  and  Brhlge-of-Welr. — A  Pliysician's 
Letter. —"  What  Hath  God  Wrought?  "  — Ninety-five  per  ceot. 
Doing  Well   374 


COXTENTS.  xiii 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

LOCAL   CHARITIES. 

Emigration  Not  Always  Practicable.  —  Cripples'  Homes.  —  Family 
Life  the  True  Principle.  —  Dr.  Howe's  Plea.  —  Children  Should 
be  Mothered.  —  The  First  Reformatory  Institution  on  the  Family 
Plan.  —  People  at  first  Sceptical.  — ■  Nineteen  Years  of  Experi- 
ence.—  Wonderful  Success.  —  Penal  System  Modified.  —  Objec- 
tions Answered.  —  A  Good  Farm  Needed. — A  Good  Location 
Near  Markets  Essential.  —  Everything  Should  be  Made  Educative 
and  Pleasant.  —  Distinguishments  in  Dress  Should  be  Avoided.  — 
Make  the  boy  Self-sustainhig.  — The  Home  must  be  well  Officered. 

—  The  Fountains  of  Influence.  —  Christian  Gentlemen  and  Ladies. 

—  Children's  Charities  in  Towns  and  Villages.  —  What  Neglected 
*•  Arabs  "  Become.  —  Village  Charities.  —  Girls  Harder  to  Manage 
than  Boys.  —  City  Charities. — Half-time  Schools. — New  York 
Experience.  —  Day  Industrial  Schools.  —  Cleanliness  and  Indus- 
try.—  Creches  for  Babies. — Lodging-Houses. — How  Prepared. 

—  "'Placing  Out." — Must  be  Conducted  with  Great  Caution. — 
Summer  Homes. — -Summary  of  Work  Done  by  Children's 
Aid  Society. —  Financial  Status. — Effects  on  Crime. — Sanitary 
Results.  —  Report  from  Kansas. — The  Work  of  one  Extensive 
Charity 392 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

CAPTURING    ARABS.  / 

A  Night  on  the  Streets.  — Our  Fifth  Boy. —  "  Artful  Dodgers."  — 
Mr.  Fegan's  Experience.  —  Tlie  Key  to  Unlock  a  Boy's  Heart.  — 
Christian  Ladies  Well  Qualified  for  the  Work.  —  Remarks  by  the 
Earl  of  Shaftesbury.  —  Catching  '"Arabs."  —  Barnardo's  Meth- 
ods. —  Midnight  Wanderings.  —  How  the  Low  Lodging-Houses 
are  Supplied. — The  Vilest  Seed  in  Town.  —  The  Doctor  and  the 
Deputy.  —  The  Fever  Patient. — Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  —  "The 
Thief-look."  —  "Punch."  —  Punch's  Interest  in  Uncle  Tom. — 
Anxious  to  Read.  —  The  Doctor's  Proposal.  —  Punch  not  Con- 
vinced. —  The  Bargain  Ratified.  —  An  Educated  Thief  Most  Dan- 
gerous. —  Punch's  Expertness  Surprising  the  Doctor.  —  No  Harm 
Done.  —  Sorry  Sometimes.  —  "  When  you  "re  Caught."  —  Punch 
in  a  Passion.  —  An  Awakened   Conscience.  —  A  New  Creature. 

—  Industry.  —  Change  of  Homes.  —  Marriage.  —  How  Punch  Be- 
came a  Thief.  —  The  Tempter.  — -  "  I  do  the  Liftiri'.'"  —  The  Power 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

of  Money.  —  First  Theft.  —  "Arabs''  Lost  when  not  taken  in 
Hand  early.  —  The  Expenditure  of  Crime  and  Reclamation  Con- 
trasted   413 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

SPECIMEN    ARABS. 

Best  Appearances  Placed  in  Front.  —  Boston  Culture.  — Wendell 
Phillips  and  Dennis  Kearney.  —  "Prim  Talkey." — "Arab" 
Cheek.  —  Loquaciousness.  —  Astounding  Answers.  —  The  Per- 
plexed Traveler.  —  "  Bully  for  the  Buck-eye."  —  Talkey  in  a  New 
Pole. — A  Clergyman's  Sensible  Address. — Talkey  a  Perfect 
Humbug.  —  "  Apple-Dumpling." — Why  that  Name.  —  Baby  Talk. 

—  An  Affecting  Tale.  —  Different  from  Most  Street  Juveniles.  — 
The  Dumpling  Pitying  Himself.  — How  He  was  Introduced  to  a 
Home.  —  "I  Never,  Never  Steal'd  Nothing."  —  His  Two  Homes. 

—  Ragged  Dick.— The  Box  Hotel. —  "  What  "11  Johnny  Nolan 
Say?  *'  —  A  Jolly  Good  Fellow.  —  Dick  Fully  Awake.  —  Pickety. 

—  "Hain't  Got  No  Name,  Sir."'  —  Sleeping  in  the  "Holler."  — 
A  Smile  Overcoming  the  Wolf-feeling.  —  The  Superintendent's 
Friendly  Talk. — The  Sleeping-Room.  — "The  Upper  Ten.""  —  A 
Charitable  Hotel-Waiter. — Pickety"s  Earnings. — ^  Seeking  to 
Please  God.  —  Was  it  a  Ghost?  —  Mino  Whistles  "  Captain  Jinks." 

—  Getting  Manners.  —  Farming  a  Splendid  Business.  —  Pickety's 
Fears  of  Indians.  —  Interesting  Letter.  —  Accumulating  Property. 

—  A  Thriving  Farmer 441 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

SAVE    THE  CHILDRP:N. 

A  Lost  '"Ittle  Dirl."  —  Canon  Farrar's  Earnest  Plea.  —  Who  Fills 
the  Gaps?  —  Shameful  Neglect.  —  Accident.  —  Terrible  Cruelty. 

—  Absolute  Death.  —  Besides  there  is  Sin.  —  Save  the  Children. 

—  Dr.  Newton's  Harrowing  Story.  —  The  Foaming  Torrent.  —  "I 
saw  them  all  Perish.''— The  Real  Trouble. —The  Old  Man's 
Tragic  Tale. — Mourning  a  Mother  and  Wife.  —  "I  Demanded 
Food."'  — The  Shocking  Blow. —A  Wild  Laugh  and  Pleading 
Moans.  —  Frozen  to  Death.  —  The  Raving  Maniac.  —  "  Sign  it, 
Young  Man,  Sign  it." — The  Discovery.  —  A  Word  About 
Tramps.  —  Incurably  Lazy.  —  A  Field  for  the  Home  Missionary. 

—  The  Brave  Hussar. — An  Honored  Soldier.  —  Charlie  Ross. — 
The  Countess  of    Belville.  —  Charlie"s    Prayer.  —  The    Missing 


I 


CONTENTS.  XV 

Child. — A  Sorrowing  Mother.  —  Seeking  Comfort  from  God. — 
The  Young  Sweep.  —  Anxious  Questioning.  —  The  Marvelous 
Discovery. —  " My  Child!  My  Child!"  —  Lady  Belville's  Chari- 
ties.—  Dr.  Pentecost's  "  Arab."  — Wishing  to  be  Gooder. — 
Changing  Mastei'.s. — •"You  Bet  I  Would!'' — Johnny's  Prayer. 
—Are  You  Seeking  to  Save? 463 

CHAPTER   XX. 

ODDS  AND   ENDS. 

String  Wanted.  —  Pickings  and  Stealings. — Self-denial. — The 
Little  Black  Girl.  —  "Cheer.  Boys,  Cheer!"  —  London  Ragged-^ 
Schools.  —  Volunteer  Teachers.  —  Powerlessness  of  Science.  — 
"  Science  has  no  Morality."  —  Broussa  Orphans.  —  Only  Sample 
Cases.  —  Poem  on  Christian  Liberality.  —  What  a  Schoolboy  Saw. 

—  The  Sister's  Love  Letters. — The  Parson  a-Swellin' Up. — In- 
viting Jesus  to  Tea.  —  Female  Orphanages.  —  Alone  in  London. 

—  Mrs.  Arden's  Forgetfulness. — "Precious  Promise."  —  The 
Mysterious  Caller. — The  Zulu  "Arab."  —  Aim  High.  —  Mr. 
Gough's  Cigars.  —  "  Feel  o'  that  air  Muscle !  "  — Mr.  Gough  and 
Mr.  Spurgeon.  —  The  Sick  Boy.  —  Mr.  Spurgeon  at  his  Greatest. 

—  The  Burned  "  Arab."  —  A  Hard  Case.  —  Only  a  Boy.  —  Bobby 
and  the  Breakfast.  —  Afraid  of  Being  Born  Again.  —  Be  Brave, 
Boys.  —  The  Christian  Martyr  Picture. — Japan  "Arabs.''  — 
Wonderful  Kites. —  "  Feast  of  Flags." —  '' Feast  of  Dolls."  — 
The  Story-teller.  —  The  Floating  Duck.  —  The  "  Arab  "  is  Sharp 
and  Sly.  —  Paddy's  Speech.  —  Another  "Arab"  Speech.  —  The 
Speaker's  Departure  for  the  West 487 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Child-Mother.     (Frontispiece.)  Page 

A  Street  Arab 22 

A  Gutter  Snipe 25 

Waifs 27 

Tom 33 

A  Genuine  Surprise 41 

The  Calm  Trencherman       47 

Bestowing  Gifts       52 

A  Street  Boy 56 

Craving  after  Knowledge 59 

A  Doleful  Quartette 62 

A  Chief  Source  of  Arabism 67 

Chalk-Sketching  for  a  Living 72 

A  Regular  Squall       75 

An  Officer's  Discovery       82 

The  Homeless       85 

An  Ill-used  Boy       87 

In  Despair 88 

Unnatural  Parents 90 

Three  Woolly  Heads       94 

Shirkers 98 

Heroes      102 

Squeaker      106 

The  Fortunes  of  a  Street  Waif 109 

A  Pickpocket  Still < 115 

Youthful  Burglars 117 

Boy  Criminals       120 

Old  Joe 122 

Yankee  Puzzles 123 

JoLLYiN'  Poor  Bili 126 


X  viii  ILL  US  TEA  TIONS. 

Page 

"Brisk  an"  Cheerful" 130 

Turning  a  Somerset 137 

Taken  from  Life 139 

Fairly  Trapped 142 

Summoned  Away 150 

Brother  and  Sister  Hescued 157 

Factory  Girls"  Heads IGl 

Children's  Heads 166 

The  Street  Girl"s  End 172 

A  Country  Arab       178 

The  Chimney  Sweep ' 180 

Runaway  Pig         182 

The  Silent  Watcher , 186 

A  Drinking  Mother 192 

Homeless  Children 194 

The  Loving  Brother 196 

An  Arab  Factory 201 

The  Street  Boy's  Bed 200 

Industry • 212 

Idleness 214 

The  Discovery 217 

A  Deputy 221 

Joey's  Protegee 224 

Explanations 230 

"Dead  Rabbits'"  and  "Short  Boys" 240 

The  Free  Show 244 

The  Newsboy 248 

The  Christmas  Tree 254 

lodginci-houses  as  they  are 257 

Innocent  Sleep     260 

Children  at  Play 262 

Applying  for  Lodgings 268 

Poor  Children  Among  Flowers 272 

Little  Miss  Vanity      276 

Transplantations 284 

LODGING-IlOUSES   AS   THEY   WeRK 289 


ILL  US  TEA  TIONS.  xix 

Page 

The  Exhausted  Street-Sweeper 292 

The  Little  Lamb 295 

The  Young  Farmer 299 

A  Western  Home 300 

Rescued  Gutter  Snipes 304 

An  Adoption 307 

From  Street  Life  to  a  Home 311 

A  Transplanted  Arab 315 

A  Happy  Brother  and  Sister 317 

Was  He  a  Train-Wrecker? 321 

The  Reward  of  Industry 323 

Adopted 326 

Now  AND  Then 330 

Past  and  Present 333 

A  Bonny  Farmer's  Boy 335 

Rescued  and  Happy 342 

A  Kaffir  Arab 351 

"Come  Unto  Me" 357 

Thirsting  for  Knowledge 363 

"John  Three  Sixteen" 368 

A  Widowed  Mother 376 

A  Chinese  Arab 384 

The  Strep:t  Boy  on  a  Farm 387 

Tickets  for  Charity  Soup       393 

Catching  an  Arab    . 417 

An  Unrescued  Arab 448 

Sheltered 458 

Somebody's  Baby 472 

Wanting  to  Learn .  490 

Warned  off  by  '' Livery" 496 


CHAPTER  I. 

DULY    QUALIFIED. 

The  title  "Arab."  — The  Arab  of  the  Desert.  — Desert  and  City  Bedouins.  —  Gutter 
Snipes.  —  ^YAIFS.  —  Children  excite  curiosity.  —  My  First  AVaif .  —  Society's  Darkest 
Woes. — Perverted  Charity. — An  Irish  Widow. —The  Little  Black-eyed  Girl. — 
Gone  for  a  AVatch. — "A  Being  of  Beauty  and  a  Joy  Forever."  —  "Nobody's 
Children."  —  Poor  Tom.  —  Tom  in  the  Carriage.  —  The  Frightened  Lady.  —  Drunken 
Sal.  —  "  Lem  me  ( >ut!  "  —  Tom's  Xew  Suit.  —  Tom's  Breakfast.  —  Tom's  Home. 

^PHE  name  "  Arab,"  as  applied  to  persons  liowever  outcast 
of  christianized  communities,  is  objected  to  by  many. 
It  sounds  rough,  uncharitable,  offensive,  and  degrading.  So 
say  some  who  have  the  cause  of  our  city  waifs  nearest  their 
hearts  :  and  who  are  most  zealous  in  effort  to  reclaim  these 
same  poor  children  of  error  and  neglect. 

Nevertheless,  the  title  "  Arab  "  is,  in  many  respects,  the 
most  fitting  that  can  be  found.  The  "  street  Arab "  is  a 
very  Bedouin  in  the  midst  of  the  thronging  city  multitude, 
manifesting  many  of  those  selfsame  traits  which  so  uniquely 
distinguish  the  veritable  "  child  of  the  desert." 

From  remotest  periods  the  descendants  of  Ishmael  have 
retained  their  peculiarities.  Not  more  easily  is  the  Jew 
recognized  by  his  telltale  countenance,  than  the  Arab 
by  his  irrepressible  characteristics.  While  many  of  these 
'•'■  sons  of  freedom "  have  applied  themselves  to  trade  or 
agriculture,  the  majority  still  roam  tlie  deserts  in  untram- 
nieled  liberty.  Poverty,  even,  is  sweeter  to  them  than 
confinement.  Naturally  they  become  warlike  and  j^reda- 
tory  in  their  habits.  Assuming  that  "all  is  fair  in  war,** 
they  act  upon  the  principle  that  "might  makes  right,*" 
whether  it  be  the  might  of  brute  force,  or  savage  cunning. 
The    comforts   and    restraints    of  social   and    civil    life    are 


22 


STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


not  ti)  be  compared  with  trusty  weapons  and  a  swift-going 
steed.  Despising  governments,  they  are  yet  controlled  by 
their  emirx,  their  sheiks,  and  their  traditions.  Ishmaelites 
by  descent,  they  are  Ishmaelites  in  disposition  also  ;  their 
hand  against  every  man,  they  trust  no  man  thoroughly, 
save  their  own  brotherhood.  Uncertain,  vindictive,  and 
selfish,    they   are     the    source    of    apprehension     to    every 

traveler.  Living  in  clans 
or  hordes,  for  self-protec- 
tion, however,  rather  than 
for  love's  sake,  their  one 
pre-eminent  object  in  life 
is  subsistence  —  food,  shel- 
ter, clothing. 

And  so,  like  the  original 
desert  Bedouin,  there  is  to 
be  found  in  every  large 
city  a  class  of  lads,  whose 
aims,  aspirations,  habits, 
and  methods,  are  the  exact 
counterpart  of  tlieso  we 
have  described.  Libert ij 
to  such  is  grander  than 
luxury.  Victuals  is  the  ulti- 
matum in  every  onslaught 
and  every  victory.  It  was 
therefore  with  acutest  discernment,  that,  more  than  thirty 
years  ago.  Lord  Shaftesbury  discovered  the  resemblance. 
To  this  noble  Earl,  whose  prolonged  life  of  Christian  useful- 
ness has  been  devoted  to  philanthropic  efforts  for  the  lapsed 
masses,  we  are  indebted  for  the  epithet,  so  unique  and 
suggestive,  of  Street  Arab. 

These   nomadic    tribes   of   the    cities   are    indeed    embryo 
Ishmaelites;    having   their   own    dialect,  customs,   and   tra- 


:y^®'^/'''' 


A  STREET   ARAB. 


DVLY  QUALIFIED.  23 

ditioiis.  (^f  all  sizes,  all  degrees  of  mental  calibre,  and  all 
varieties  of  physical  constitution,  there  is  immense  diversity 
among  them ;  though  as  a  class  having  much  in  common, 
they  may  not  be  pronounced  a  unit.  Their  conduct 
fills  one  with  indignation  or  with  pity,  or  with  alterna- 
tions of  both.  Though  studiously  ignorant  of  every  proper 
mode  of  government,  yet  they  have  their  own  code  of 
honor,  and  their  own  notions  of  justice.  /From  childhood  V 
ih.ej  prey ;  and  by  experience  learn  to  overcome  might  by 
cumiingT)  They  fear  no  one  so  much  as  the  Policeman. 
Him  they  regard  as  an  unmitigated  nuisance  —  the  chief 
hindrance  to  their  success  in  life.  When  it  was  asked  of 
one,  "  When  your  father  and  your  mother  forsake  you,  who 
will  take  you  up?"  the  ready  reply  was  "The  perlice,  sir." 
^Y^t?  unpromising  as  the  soil  is  for  fruitful  harvest,  these 
"  Arabs,"  unlike  those  from  whom  they  derive  their  name, 
--are  capable  of  reclamation,  and  through  patience  and  kind- 
ness are  frequently  transformed  into  worthy  citizens. 

Gutter  Snipes  is  the  title  wliich  designates  that  class 
of  children,  who  are  too  utterly  weak,  both  mentally  and 
jDhysically,  to  cope  with  the  more  sturdy  "-  Arab."  Like 
snipes,  they  are  creatures  of  suction.  A  garbage  heap  is 
frecjuently  their  source  of  supply  to  furnish  them  with  the 
ever-coveted,  always-needed  "  wittles,"  to  meet  the  craving 
[  of  gaunt  hunger.  "I  ain't  got  the  gripes  yet,"  was  the 
half-joyous,  strange  reply  of  a  feeble  little  creature,  when 
asked  if  she  were  hungry.  "  They  comes  the  third  day," 
was  the  additional  information,  when  interrogated.  ■  For 
two  days  this  po(n-  child  had  been  elbowed  from  the 
barrels  where  scraps  were  to  be  found,  and  all  the  while 
had  not  tasted  food.  But  with  some  measure  of  joy  she 
thought  of  the  terrible  da}^  as  not  quite  upon  her,  when 
the   uns})aring  "gripes"  would  tear   her  like   a  wild  beast. 

Waif  is  more  comprehensive  —  a  term   embracing  many 


24  STREET  AliABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

grades  of  young    unfortunates.      The  term   in  English  law 

means   "goods  found    of  which  the  owner  is  not  known." 

They  were  originally  such  goods  as  a  thief,  when  pursued, 

threw  away  to    prevent  being  apprehended.     A  tvaii\  then, 

\  /being   something   ownerless   and    unclaimed,  the    term    has 

/  easily  become  applicable  to  describe  those  children  deserted 

j    of  their  parents,  as  also  those,  possibly  less  fortunate,  who 

I    are  uot  deserted,  but  held    of   their    unnatural  parents    or 

I    guardians  in  a  bondage  more  relentless  and  calamitous  than 

1    desertion.     To   denounce  their   unnatural  parents  will    not 

V^save  the  child.     Of  what  utility  is  it  to  anathematize    the 

drunken  father  who  refused  to  pay  the  dollar  fine  for  his  lad 

found  guilty  of  hauling  driftwood  from  the  river,  and  allowed 

him  to  be  incarcerated  with  hardened  criminals,  unless   we 

can  throw  some  arm  of   protection    around  that  child,  not 

literally  orphaned  but    morally  outcast  ?     Will  he  be  less 

vicious  after  his  coarse  contact  with  vile  ruffians,  paying  the 

due   penalty   for  their   own   misdeeds  in   the   common  jail  ? 

\      Though    he    be    neither    Arab    nor    Grutter  Snipe,   he  needs 

friendly  help  and  timely  protection.     But  employ  whatever 

terms  we  please,  to  designate  these  children,  the  fact  remains 

the  same.     There  are  thousands  of  outcast  boys  and  girls  in 

every  populous  community.     We  may  wrong  them  by  gifts 

of  money ;   we   may  be  partners  with   them    in  sin   by  acts 

of    charity;    a   guide,    not    gold,    is   what    they    need.      If, 

instead   of   hurrying    onward,   satisfied    that    our    duty  was 

discharged  -when  we  dropped   our  dime    into   the  extended 

j)alm,  we  delayed  a  moment  to  in([uire  into  the  case  of  the 

child  whose    poverty  seemed    so    apparent,  we    might    find 

tlie    clue    by   which    to    arrest    incipient    crime,    or    direct 

honest    endeavor.      Not    that    vohuitary   charity   shoidd    be 

discouraged.     But  thought,  time,  and   inquiry  ought  attend 

our    liberal    impulses.      Then    sliall   we    truly  alleviate    the 

temporal    condition    of    our    Street   Arabs,    and   meet    the 

demand  of  tlieir  eternal  interests. 


DULY  QITALIFIED. 


25 


Sir  Walter  Scott  remarked:  "There  is  a  curiosity  im- 
planted ill  our  nature  which  receives  much  gratification  from 
prying  into  the  actions,  feelings,  and  sentiments  of  our  fellow- 
creatures." 

Children  of  the  street  excite  my  curio- 
sity to  an  intense  degree.  It  matters  not 
where  the  few  ragged  wide-awake  urchins 
are  congregated,  they  enlist  my  attention. 
I  become  concerned  to  know  who  they  are 
and  what  the}''  do.  My  experiences  with 
waif-life  began  in  my  early  schoolboy  days. 
Ill  my  native  country  it  was  our  nightly 
habit  to  exchange  visits  with  our  neighbors' 
children.  The  evenings  were  passed  in 
story-telling.  Books  of  anecdote  being 
much  fewer,  and  less  procurable,  then  than 
now,  imagination  was  drawn  upon  and  facts 
were  often  strangely  exaggerated.  Tlie 
natural  volubility  of  the  Irish  tongue, 
along  with  the  intense  emotionalism  of 
their  nature,  formed  the  desired  requisites 
for  the  most  distorted  and  brilliantly  col-  a  gutter  snipe. 
ored  narration  of  those  astounding  legends 
with  which  the  Irish  mind  is  so  well  stocked.  It  will  readily 
be  appreciated  how  eagerly  we  youngsters  waited  for  night- 
fall, when  Micky  or  Bridget,  the  servants,  would  be  through 
with  their  day's  duties,  and  at  leisure  to  entertain  us  Avitli 
narratives  more  wonderful  than  the  exploits  of  the  Arabian 
Nights.  I  had  thus  been  one  evening  at  a  neighboring  house 
until  late,  listening  to  the  tales  of  an  old  grandmother,  whose 
stories  were  more  captivating  than  any  my  boyisli  ears  had 
heard.  With  imagination  excited  to  white-heat,  I  departed 
for  home.  It  was  therefore  with  no  small  degree  of  terror 
that  I  heard  a  cry,  breaking  forth  upon  the  stillness  of  the 


26  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

country  air  out  of  thg  shrubbery  of  the  roadside.  It  was  all 
the  more  startling  since  it  was  not  at  all  such  a  voice  or 
sound  as  my  fevered  fancy  would  have  expected  from  those 
legendary  ghosts  whom  I  was  half  expecting  I  should  en- 
counter on  the  way  home.  I  had  also  good  sense  enough  left 
me  to  discern  that  it  was  no  call  for  assistance  from  any 
unfortunate  benighted  traveler.  No ;  it  was  rather  the 
piteous  wail  of  a  tender  laml),  deserted  of  its  dam,  or  maybe 
entangled  in  the  briars  unable  to  extricate  itself.  Believing 
this  latter  conjecture,  I  made  all  speed  for  my  house.  En- 
listing the  sympathy  of  the  household,  we  started  with 
lanterns  for  the  rescue.  Our  search  was  brief,  when  suddenly 
from  our  midst,  out  of  the  bushes,  arose  the  same  plaintive 
cry  as  of  a  feeble  lost  lamb.  We  parted  the  brambles,  and 
there  in  utter  helplessness  lay  the  little  weakling  —  not  a 
lamb,  hut  a  babe,  the  first  waif  upon  whom  I  ever  gazed. 
Since  then  I  have  tramped  city  streets  from  nightfall  to 
gray  dawn,  in  search  of  outcast  children.  I  have  encoun- 
tered them  in-  ever}-  circumstance  of  squalor,  and  disease, 
and  desertion.  But  never  since  have  I  been  so  overpowered 
with  awe,  or  so  exercised  with  anguish,  as  in  the  presence  of 
that  first  forsaken  child  my  youthful  eyes  beheld.  I  have  a 
firm  conviction  that  that  one  premature  vision  awoke  in  my 
heart  the  sympathy  and  interest  in  street  children  which,  in 
some  degree,  has  attended  all  my  later  years.  That  one  im- 
pression of  parental  inhumanity  was  to  make  its  indelible 
mark  upon  my  mind ;  revealing  to  me  the  inner  cause,  the 
bitter  core  of  societ3''s  darkest  woes,  namely  :  the  neglect, 
evil  training,  and  abandonment  of  helpless  childhood. 
Tt  is  becoming  a  universal  belief  that  the  reform  and  eleva- 
y^4ion  of  street  "  Arabs  "  is  no  longer  Utopian.  Happily  we 
Tiave  abundant  illustrations  from  many  sources  that  it  is  a 
wise  economy  to  labor  in  this  direction.  A  frigid  conserva- 
tism may  criticise  mistaken  zeal,  but  as  we  learn  wisdom 


DULY  QUALIFIED. 


1^7 


r 


from  past  blunders,  and  mistakes  add  to  the  sum  of  knowl- 
edge, the  coldly  cautious  are  at  fault.     We  admit  it  is  a  true 
saying  that   "  Charity  creates  much    of  the  misery  that  it 
relieves,  but  it  does  not 
relieve    all    the    misery 

^  that  it  creates.'*  An 
indiscriminate  charity 
may  pauperize,  and  an 
unsystematic  philan- 
thropy neutralize,  its 
own  ideal ;  nevertheless, 
we  are  not  guiltless  of 
our  brothers'  blood  by 
allowing  the  juice  of 
charity  to  dry  up  within 
us  through  fear  of  de- 
ception.    The   ministry 

•  of  mercy  is  a  delight- 
ful exercise.  It  is  mor- 
ally healthy,  and  be- 
speaks a  liidden  spring 
whose  waters  fail  not. 
"  He  that  seetli  his  bro- 
ther have  need,  and 
shuttetli  up  his  boAvels 
of  compassion  from  him, 
how  dwelleth  the  love 
of  God  in  him?"  It  is 
economical  to  be  cliari- 

VVAII-b. 

table.     He    saves    most 

who  gives  most ;  we  live  by  giving ;  we  stagnate  by  with- 
holding. Carlyle  furnishes  the  following  quotation  from 
Alison's  "Management  of  the  Poor  in  Scotland,"  which 
illustrates  my  meaning  :  — 


28  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

A  poor  Irish  widow,  her  husband  having  died  in  one  of 
the  lanes  in  Edinburgh,  went  forth  with  her  three  children 
to  solicit  help  from  the  charitable  establishments  of  that  city. 
She  was  refused,  referred  by  one  to  the  other,  helped  by 
none,  till  she  had  exhausted  them  all,  till  her  strength  and 
heart  failed  her.  She  sunk  down  in  typhus  fever,  died,  and 
infected  her  lane  with  fever,  so  that  seventeen  died  of  fever 
in  consequence.  The  humane  physician  thereupon,  as  with 
a  heart  too  full  for  speaking,  asks,  "Would  it  not  have  been 
economy  to  help  this  poor  widow  ?  She  took  typhus  fever 
and  killed  seventeen  of  you."  The  forlorn  Irish  widow 
applies  to  her  fellow-creatures,  as  if  saying,  "Behold,!  am 
sinking  ;  bare  of  help  ;  ye  must  help  me.  I  am  3'our  sister, 
bone  of  your  bone ;  one  God  made  us ;  ye  must  help  me." 
They  answer,  "  No,  impossible,  thou  art  no  sister  of  ours." 
But  she  proves  lier  sisterhood.  Her  typhus  fever  kills  them. 
Tliey  actually  were  her  brothers,  though  denying  it. 

We  liave  not  far  to  travel  in  order  to  discover  the  real 
objects  of  our  charity.  I  do  not  however  encourage  an 
im})ulsive  random  visitation.  "•  Let  all  things  be  done 
decently  and  in  order."  "Arabs"  and  "gutter  snipes  "  are 
at  our  doors.  Literally  they  are  near  at  hand.  A  gentleman 
addressing  a  meeting,  where  opulence  and  luxury  reigned 
supreme,  narrated  a  discovery  made  by  himself:  — 

I  remember  entering  recently  into  one  of  the  houses,  not 
half  a  mile  from  where  I  am  standing  at  this  moment,  and  I 
caught  a  little  black-haired,  black-eyed  girl.  I  believe  she 
would  have  been  very  pretty  if  I  could  have  seen  through 
the  dirt.  She  was  running  about,  and  I  hailed  her.  I  began 
to  talk  to  her.  In  the  first  instance  there  was  a  slight  sign 
of  civil  war,  but  when  she  became  thoroughly  aware  of  the 
fact  that  I  was  not  a  policeman,  and  that  I  did  not  mean  any 


DULY  QUALIFIED.  29 

injury  to  lier,  and  that  I  had  kindly  feelings  for  her,  she 
became  amenable,  and  the  conversation  took  something  like 
this  form :  ''Well,  lassie,  where  do  you  live?"  She  flung 
back  her  tangled  hair,  and  looked  me  up  right  in  the  face, 
and  said,  "  O,  about,"  and  she  pointed  round  to  the  some- 
what offensive  court  in  which  I  was  standing.  T  said, 
"  Where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ?  eh,  lassie  ?  "  "  O,  there  ; 
on  that  stair,"  and  she  pointed  to  a  door  —  not  a  door,  but  a 
doorway,  for  the  door  had  disappeared.  There  was  no  sign 
of  it,  and  there  Avere  rickety  stairs  going  up  into  the  lirst 
floor.  I  said,  "  Do  you  mean  on  the  stair  just  there  ?"  She 
said,  "  Yes."  I  said,  "  Well,  but  where  does  your  father 
live?"  "  O,  father!"  she  said;  "I  haven't  got  one" 
"  But,''  I  said,  "  is  your  father  dead  ?  "  "  No,"  she  said ;  "  I 
never  had  one."  I  did  not  pursue  that  any  further,  but  I 
then  tried  with  regard  to  her  mother.  I  said,  "Well,  but 
where  is  your  mother  ? "  She  said,  "  O  she  's  gone." 
"  Gone  !  Gone  where  ?  "  "  O,  for  a  watch."  I  rather  blame 
myself.  I  think  it  was  a  little  bit  stupid,  but  I  said,  "■  Gone 
for  a  watch !  What  do  you  mean?"  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  she  showed  me  that  she  had  gone  for  a  watch,  in 
the  sense  of  having  been  sent  to  prison  for  stealing  one. 
Then  I  said,  "  Does  nobody  take  care  of  you  ?  How  do 
you  feed  ?  Who  gives  you  food,  my  child  ?  "  She  said,  "  O 
anybody  —  sometimes."  I  looked  at  the  child.  I  doubted 
in  my  own  mind  whether  it  was  better  or  worse  for  her  for 
her  mother  to  come  back,  bad  as  it  seems  to  you  and  me, 
who  have  had  noble  and  godly  parents,  and  who,  ourselves, 
are  perhaps  trying,  humbly  but  faithfully  in  the  fear  of  God, 
to  do  our  duty  by  our  children  who  are  following.  It  seems 
a  horrible  thing  to  say,  yet  it  is  very  likely  —  almost  too 
true — that  the  position  of  those  that  are  orphans  is  better 
than  the  position  of  those  who  have  got  such  parents  as 
many   of   those    children  have.     Is  there   anything    in    this 


30  STiiKirr  ajiabs  and  gutteh  smpes. 

world  brighter  and  haudsoiner  than  a  bright-faced  boy? 
Notliing,  1  believe,  at  all,  except,  perhaps,  a  bright-faced  girl. 
Is  there  anything  more  beautiful  than  to  see  such  a  child  as 
that  dragged  out  of  the  gutter,  to  see  the  frown  which  hard- 
ship has  planted  upon  the  face  —  so  young,  so  unnaturally 
young  —  1)}'  degrees  smooth  away  ;  to  see  the  suspicion  grad- 
ually plucked  out  of  the  eyes ;  to  see  the  smile  become 
gradually  natural  to  the  face;  and  to  see  how,  in  the  course 
of  weeks,  or  a  few  months  at  the  outside,  there  has  been  an 
entire  translation  in  that  child  from  what  it  was  —  downcast, 
down-trodden,  des[)ised,  and  dangerous — into  a  being  of 
beauty   and  a  joy  forever? 

( )f  this  class  of  "Nobody's  children,"  Sir  Charles  Keed 
remarks:  — 

"The  thousands  of  venders,  newspaper -boys,  street- 
sweepers,  and  what  not,  if  within  age,  are  individually 
known,  and  their  school  attendance  closely  watched.  But, 
beyond  these,  we  have  a  crowd  of  half-famished,  half-naked 
children,  who  prowl  about  alleys  and  railway  arches,  fruit- 
markets  and  the  river  foreshore,  and  the  difficulty  of  press- 
ing them  into  school  is  almost  insuperable.  They  are  no 
man"s  children,  and  live  on  \w  man's  land ;  they  deny 
their  age,  give  false  addresses,  and  pass  over  the  boundary 
so  as  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  school-board  oiificers."' 

Do  not  be  shocked,  my  good  reader,  to  hear  that  children 
of  want,  of  sin,  and  woe,  are  alas  I  too  numerous.  The}'  are 
found  everywhere  ;  the  earnest  laborer  will  soon  find  out 
their  haunts  and  will  succeed  in  alluring  them  to  a  better 
condition  and  a  higlier  life.  Oh  I  do  not  gatlier  your  skirts, 
or  repel  from  your  touch  one  of  these  little  ones.  If  they 
cross  your  pathway,  accept  it  as  a  task  to  be  kindly  luider- 
taken  —  their  reclamation,  or  at  least  their  release,  from 
the  burden  of  poverty  or  ignorance.     You  will  not  fail  to 


DULY  QUALIFIED.  31 

be  interested  in  the  following  pathetic  story  of  Poor  Tom 
and  his  strange  career  :  — 

O,  but  it  was  cold  !  freezing,  biting,  bitter  cold  I  and 
dark  too  ;  for  the  feeble  gas-lights,  leaping  and  flaming  as 
the  gale  whistled  by,  hardly  brightened  the  gloom  a  dozen 
paces  around  them.  The  wind  tore  through  the  streets  as  if 
it  had  o'one  mad  ;  whirlino'  before  it  dust  and  snow,  and 
every  movable  thing  it  could  lay  its  clutching  hand  upon. 
A  poor  old  battered  kite,  that,  some  time  last  autumn,  had 
lodged  far  up  in  the  tallest  tree  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
had  there  rested  peacefully  ever  since,  believing  its  labors  at 
an  end,  was  snatched,  dragged  from  its  nest,  and  driven 
unpityingiy  before  the  blast.  Some  feeble  efforts  it  had 
made  to  dodge  into  corners,  lurking  behind  steps  and  diving 
into  areas ;  but  not  a  bit  of  it  I  Down  would  swoop  the 
wind,  and  off  it  would  go  again. 

At  last,  driven  round  one  of  a  long  row  of  barrels,  that 
stood  like  wretched  sentinels  along  the  sidewalk's  edge,  it 
flew  into  the  very  arms  of  a  small  boy,  who,  seated  on  the 
curbstone,  crouched  down  in  a  barrel's  somewhat  (|uestion- 
able  shelter.  Such  a  very  small  boy !  He  looked  like 
notliing  in  the  world  but  a  little  heap  of  rags ;  and  the  rags 
were  very  thin,  and  the  small  boy  was  very  cold.  His  nose, 
his  ears,  his  hands,  and  his  poor  bare  feet  were  blue.  He  was 
almost  too  cold  to  shiver,  certainly  too  cold  to  notice  the 
unfortunate  kite,  which,  as  its  enemy  the  wind  approached 
with  a  roar,  seemed  to  cower  close  to  him,  as  if  begging  his 
protection;  Round  both  sides  of  the  barrel  at  once  came 
the  wind,  shook  hands  right  through  poor  little  Tom,  and, 
howling  with  delight,  rushed  ofl^  with  its  miserable  victim. 

"  Tom  "  —  that  was  all  the  name  he  had.  Who  he  was,  or 
where  he  came  from,  no  one  knew,  except  perhaps  the 
wretched  old  woman  with  whom  he  lived:  which  meant  that 


32  STUEET  ABABS  AXD  G  UTTEll  SNIPES. 

she  let  him  sleep  upon  a  pile  of  rags  on  the  floor  of  her 
miserable  room,  and  sometimes  gave  him  a  crust,  and  oftener 
a  blow.  When  she  was  drunk  —  and  that  was  the  greater 
part  of  the  time  —  Tom  took  to  the  streets  ;  and  to-night  she 
was  very  drunk.  The  boy  Avas  perhaps  some  six  years  old; 
but  as  he  cowered  down  on  the  cold  flagstones,  with  his 
worn,  pinched  face  and  drooping  head,  he  might  have  been 
sixty. 

A  carriage  came  rattling  through  the  icy  street,  and 
stopped  close  by  him.  The  door  was  pushed  open,  and  two 
children  half  tumbled  out,  and,  leaving  the  door  swinging, 
rushed  up  the  steps.  Tom  watched  them  stupidly,  heard 
the  quick,  sharp  ring  of  the  bell,  caught  a  glimpse  of  some- 
thincf  that  looked  verv  bright  and  warm,  and  then  it  was 
dark  again.  .He  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  carriage, 
expecting  it  to  drive  off  again ;  but  it  still  stood  there. 
The  coachman  sat  upon  the  box  like  a  furry  monument. 
One  of  the  horses  struck  the  stones  sharply  with  his  iron 
hoofs,  and  cast  an  incjuiriiig  glance  round,  but  the  monument 
sat  unmoved. 

Tom's  heav}^  eyes  looked  through  the  open  door  into  the 
carriage.  Dark  as  it  Avas,  he  could  see  that  it  was  lined  with 
something  thick  and  warm.  He  raised  his  head  and  glanced 
about  him.  If  he  were  inside  there  the  wind  could  not 
touch  him.  O,  if  he  only  could  get  away  from  it  one  min- 
ute !  He  would  slip  out  again  the  moment  the  house-door 
opened.  Unbending  his  stiff  little  body,  he  crept  nearer, 
hesitated  a  moment,  and,  as  the  wind  came  round  the  corner 
with  a  roar,  slipped  swiftly  and  noiselessly  into  the  carriage. 
In  the  further  corner  of  the  seat  he  curled  himself  into 
a  little  round  heap,  and  lay,  with  beating  heart,  listening 
to  the  wind  as  it  swept  by. 

It  was  very  quiet  in  his  nest,  and  the  soft  veh  et  was 
much  warmer  than  the  cold  flagstones,  and  he  was  very  tired 


"When  she  was  drunk,  Tom  took  to  the  streets."     (Page  32.) 


DULY  QUALIFIED.  35 

and  very  cold,  and  in  half  a  minute  he  was  sound  asleep. 
He  did  not  know  when  at  last  the  house-door  opened, 
and  a  lady,  gathering  her  cloak  closely  around  her,  came 
down  the  steps  —  did  not  know  even  when  the  suddenly 
animated  monument  descended  from  its  pedestal  and  stood 
solemnly  by  the  open  door  until  the  lady  had  stepped  inside. 
But  when  it  shut  with  a  slam,  and  the  coachman,  returning 
to  the  box,  drove  rapidly  away,  the  boy's  eyes  opened  and 
fixed  their  frightened  gaze  upon  the  lady's  face.  Preoccu- 
pied with  her  own  thoughts,  she  had  not  noticed  the  queer 
bundle  in  the  dark  corner.  But  now,  her  attention 
attracted  by  some  slight  movement  on  his  part,  she  turned 
her  eyes  slowly  towards  him,  and  then,  with  a  suppressed 
cry  of  surprise  and  alarm,  laid  her  hand  upon  the  door. 
The  rattle  of  the  wheels  and  the  roar  of  the  wind  prevented 
its  reaching  the  ears  of  the  coachman ;  and  Tom,  rapidly 
unwinding  himself,  and  cowering  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
carriage,  said,  with  a  frightened  sob  :  — 

"  I  did  n't  mean  no  luirm.  O,  I  was  awful  cold.  Please, 
just  open  the  door,  an'  I  '11  jump  out." 

The  lady,  with  her  hand  still  on  the  door,  demanded :  — 

"  How  did  you  get  here  '? " 

"The  door  was  open,  an'  I  clum  in,"  he  answered.  ''It 
was  awful  cold." 

The  lady  took  lier  hand  from  the  door.  "  Come  nearer," 
she  said.     "  Let  me  see  your  face." 

Tom  drew  his  ragged  sleeve  across  his  eyes,  and  glanced 
up  at  her  with  a  scared  look  over  his  shoulder.  They  had 
turned  into  a  brilliantly  lighted  street,  and  she  could  see 
that  the  tangled  yellow  hair  was  soft  and  fine,  and  that  the 
big,  frightened  eyes  that  raised  themselves  to  hers  were  not 
pickpocket's  eyes.  With  a  sudden  impulse  she  laid  her 
gloved  hand  lightly  on  the  yellow  head.  "  Where  do  you 
live  ?  "  she  asked. 


36  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

Something  in  the  voice  and  touch  gave  him  courage. 

"  With  Sal,"  he  answered,  straightening  up  —  "  me  an' 
some  other  fellows.  Sometimes  we  begs,  sometimes  we  earns. 
When  we  get  a  haul  it  ain't  so  bad,  but  when  we  don't  we 
ketch  it.     She  's  drunk  to-night,  an'  she  drove  us  out." 

She  pushed  the  heavy  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  "  Is 
she  your  mother  ?  "  the  lady  asked. 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  boy,  almost  fiercely  ;  and  then  added, 
sullenly,  "  I  ain't  got  none." 

Slowly  the  gloved  hand  passed  back  and  forth  over  the 
yellow  hair.  The  lady's  eyes  were  looking  far  away ;  the 
boy's  face  was  like,  so  strangely  like  another  face. 

"  Are  you  hungry?"  she  asked,  suddenly. 

The  wide-open  gray  eyes  would  have  answered  her  with- 
out the  quick  sob  and  low  ''  Yes  'm." 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  the  monument,  again  accom- 
plishing a  descent,  opened  the  door,  and  stood  staring  in 
blank  amazement. 

"  I  am  not  going  in,  John,"  said  his  mistress.  "  Drive 
home  again."  And  she  added,  smiling,  '■'  This  little  boy 
crept  in  out  of  the  cold  while  the  carriage  was  waiting. 
I  am  going  to  take  him  home.  Drive  back  as  <|uickly  as 
possible." 

As  the  bewildered  coachman  shut  the  door  and  returned 
to  his  perch,  the  boy  made  a  spring  forward. 

"  Lem  me  out  I  "  he  cried.  "  I  don't  want  to  go  home. 
Lemme  out ! " 

'•'■  Not  your  home,"  said  tlie  lady,  gently  —  "  my  home." 

Tom  stared  at  her  in  wonder,  and,  too  much  overcome  by 
the  announcement  to  resist,  let  her  lift  him  up  on  the  seat 
beside  her. 

"  My  lionie,"  she  repeated,  "  where  you  can  get  very 
warm,  and  have  a  good  dinner,  and  a  long,  long  sleep,  on 
a  soft  bed.     Will  you  like  that?" 


DULY  QUALIFIED.  37 

Tom  drew  a  long,  slow  breath,  but  did  not  answer.  It 
was  too  wonderful !  He  —  one  of  Sal's  boys  !  —  to  go  to 
the  lady's  house  where  the  children  lived  whom  he  had  seen 
go  in  that  evening!  He  looked  up  suddenly.  "Were 
those  children  your  'n  ?  "  he  asked.  Witli  a  sudden  move- 
ment she  drew  him  very  closely  to  her,  and  then  answered, 
softly :  — 

"  No,  not  mine.  I  had  a  little  boy  once,  like  you,  and  he 
died." 

When  the  carriage  stopped  again,  Tom  was  fast  asleep  — 
so  fast  asleep  that  the  still  bewildered  coacliman  carried  him 
into  the  house  and  laid  him  on  a  bed  without  waking  him. 
The  next  morning,  when  the  boy's  eyes  opened,  he  lay  look- 
ing about  him,  hardly  daring  to  speak  or  move.  I  don't 
believe  he  had  ever  heard  anything  about  fairies,  or  he 
would  certainly  have  thought  himself  in  fairyland.  Best  of 
all,  the  lady  of  the  night  before  was  standing  by  the  bed 
smiling  at  him,  and,  smiling  back,  he  held  out  his  arms  to 
her. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him  a  little  later,  when, 
arrayed  in  jacket  and  trousers  that  made  him  think  with 
disdain  of  certain  articles  of  the  same  description  which  he 
had  but  yesterday  gazed  at  lovingly  as  they  dangled  before 
old  Isaac's  dingy  second-hand  shop,  he  sat  before  a  little 
table  by  the  sunny  window,  taking  a  short,  a  very  short, 
preliminary  view  of  a  gigantic  beefsteak,  still  indignantly 
sputtering  to  itself,  a  inountain  of  smoking  potatoes,  an 
imposing  array  of  snowy  rolls  and  golden  butter,  and 
a  pitcher  of  creamy  milk.  And  I  wish,  too,  you  could  have 
seen  the  same  table  still  later ;  for  the  table  was  about 
all  that  was  left. 

That  was  the  first  time  that  I  ever  saw  Tom.  Since  then 
I  have  seen  him  very  often.  And  now  I  will  tell  you,  only 
I  am  afraid  you  will  hardly  believe  me,  about  the  last  time, 


38  STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

and  that  was  not  very  long  ago.  I  was  riding  along  one  of 
the  prettiest  country  roads  you  ever  saw,  and  when  I  came 
to  a  certain  gate  my  horse,  without  waiting  for  a  sign  from 
me,  turned  in.  As  we  drew  near  the  house  I  caught  sight 
of  two  tigures  standing  among  the  flowers.  One  was 
a  handsome  old  lady  with  white  hair,  the  other  a  young  man. 
She  was  armed  with  an  immense  pair  of  shears  and  he  held 
in  his  hand  his  hat  fllled  to  the  brim  with  flowers.  The  sun- 
light, creeping  down  through  the  trees,  fell  upon  his  close- 
cropped  hair  and  yellow  beard.  As  I  drew  in  my  horse  and 
sat  watching  them,  it  all  seemed  to  me  like  a  fairy  story. 
But  it  was  n't ;  for  the  tall,  handsome  man  looking  down 
with  such  protecting  tenderness  upon  the  white-haired 
oki  lady  was  reall}'  Tom  —  poor,  little,  thin,  cold,  hungry 
Tom. 


CHAPTER   11. 

SURPRISES. 

Pleasure  of  Surprises. —  "  Be  You  God's  Wife?"  —  Crackling's  Secret.  —  Watching 
Customers.  —  "Plain  Plum  or  Curran'?"  —  Bolting  a  Choice  Morsel. —  '■  Cold 
Suetty."  — Crackling  Goue  Mad.  — The  Gaunt  Man  of  Pride.  — "God  Bless  You 
for  Such  Goodness  to  a  Stranger." — Crackling  Victimized.  —  Endless  Freaks  and 
Multiplied  Dodges.  —  My  Boy,  and  Pie-Eulogy.  —  My  Surprise.  —  Arabs'  Phraseol- 
ogy. —  What  is  True  Charity? 

"ly /TANY  charitable  persons  indulge  in  the  habit  of  surpris- 
ing. It  is  pure  enjoyment  to  them  when  they  over- 
whelm the  recipient  b}'  the  suddenness,  or  munificence,  of 
their  gifts.  Such  a  ministry  David  exercised  toward  Mephib- 
osheth  when  he  suddenly  announced  to  liim  an  unexpected 
blessing.  "  Fear  not,  for  I  will  surely  show  thee  kindness 
for  Jonathan  thy  father's  sake,  and  will  restore  thee  all  the 
land  of  Saul  thy  (grand)  father;  and  thou  shalt  eat  bread 
at  my  table  continually"  (2  Sam.  ix).  How  excited  we 
have  been  while  opening  the  box,  or  barrel,  or  package, 
sent  by  some  unknown  donor.  When  the  unexpected 
check  dropped  out  of  the  letter  ;  or  the  friendly  face  we 
supposed  at  a  distance  smiled  upon  us  as  we  lay  on  our 
sickbed  ;  or  when  in  some  other  form  of  kindness  we  were 
overtaken  by  surprise,  we  may  not  have  immediately  thought 
of  the  unalloyed  pleasure  such  a  ministry  gave  to  the  bene- 
factor. This  is  indeed  a  royal  enjoyment.  Nor  is  it  an 
indulgence  confined  to  possessors  of  large  means.  Large 
capital  is  not  needed  in  order  to,  secure  happiness  to  our- 
selves and  others.  A  few  pennies  laid  out  with  economy 
will  procure  comfort  and  help  for  at  least  one  poor  child. 
Kindly  feeling  should  accompany  kindly  deeds.  We  need 
not  treat  the  subject  of  our  charity  as  an  offensive  beggar, 
nor  crush  out  his  finer  feelings  with  an  ungenerous  growl. 


40  STllEEr  AHABS  AXD  iiUTTElt  SXIPES. 

The  manner  of  doing  is  often  greater  than  the  deed  per- 
formed. More  pathetic  than  anything  I  ever  heard  was  the 
strange  question  of  a  hungry  child,  put  to  a  lady  Avho  had 
abundantly  relieved  her  pressing  wants.  The  sweet  pity 
of  the  kind  donor  was  more  surprising  than  her  thoughtful 
gift.  Receiving  the  choice  food  so  suddenly  placed  in  her 
hand  as  she  stood  shivering  on  the  streets,  the  child  asked, 
with  wondering  eyes  :  "  Be  you  God's  wife,  ma'am  ?  "  If 
the  neglected  maiden  had  no  recollections  of  human  love, 
or  human  goodness,  she  learned  correct  theology  from  some 
teacher.  The  waif  must  have  had  the  gospel  description 
of  God,  for  "•  God  is  love,"  and  she  could  only  surmise  that 
a  divine  being  had  come  at  last  to  pity  and  to  aid  her. 

Mr.  James  Greenwood,  of  Casual  Ward  fame,  a  very 
philanthropist,  whose  narrations  of  experiences  among  the 
lower  classes  have  led  to  many  practical  reforms,  relates  the 
following  illustration  of  this  surprising  ministry  :  — 

Crackling  himself  was  as  jealous  of  his  "secret"  as  though 
lasting  disgrace  would  have  been  his  portion  had  it  been 
discovered,  and  the  amazement  and  vexation  visible  on  his 
jolly  round  face,,  when,  accompanied  by  a  friend  at  noon 
of  Christmas  day,  I  entered  his  shop  and  boldly  taxed  him 
with  it,  would  not  l)e  easy  to  describe,  whereas  the  real 
wonder  was  that  it  had  not  leaked  out  years  before.  It  was 
simply  as  follows :  Compassionating  tlie  melancholy  and 
down-heartedncss  of  those  whose  hard  fate  it  was  to  go 
dinnerless  on  the  day  of  all  days  when  most  folk  were  feast- 
ing, he  had  hit  on  an  ingenious  expedient  to  give  comfort 
to  some  few  of  them,  at  any  rate.  His  shop,  though  situated 
in  a  prosperous  highway,  is  in  the  vicinity  of  an  exceedingly 
poor  "back"  neighborhood.  He  had  observed  that  on 
Christmas  day  more  than  at  any  other  time  the  handsome 
array  of  eatables  displayed  in  his  Avindow  attracted  the  atten- 


A  GENUINE  SURPRISE. 


suBFEisi:s.  43 

tion  of  "  liard-iip "  wayfarers.  From  his  place  behind  the 
counter  it  was  his  custom  with  his  wife  to  kee})  a  sharp 
look-out  for  the  most  manifestly  miserable  of  these  Avindow- 
gazers,  and  without  ceremony  to  beckon  them  in  and  sit 
them  down  to  what  he  called  a  "fair  tuck-in"  of  roast-beef 
and  plum-pudding.  There  was  not  very  much  doing  in  the 
ordinary  way  of  business  at  his  establishment  on  Christmas, 
and  for  the  respectable  and  paying  class  of  customers  there 
were  the  dining-rooms  upstairs.  The  place  set  apart  for  his 
impecunious  guests  was  the  space  at  the  back  of  the  shop, 
where  there  are  several  compartments  calculated  to  accommo- 
date ten  or  a  dozen  sitters,  the  occupants  of  each  box  being 
screened  from  the  observation  of  adjoining  diners  by  means 
of  a  short  red  curtain  ringed  overhead  to  a  l)rass  rail.  My 
companion  and  myself  occupied  the  Itox  nearest  the  shop, 
from  whence,  without  being  seen,  Ave  had  a  view  of  the  win- 
dow; and  the  compartments  being  divided  one  from  the 
other  only  by  a  thin  partition,  it  was  easy  for  a  listener 
to  overhear  any  conversation  that  might  be  going  on  amongst 
his  neighbors. 

Punctually  at  twelve  o'clock,  though  more,  I  Ijelieve,  as 
a  lure  for  that  particular  class  of  guests  the  benevolent  cook- 
shop-keeper  had  foremost  in  his  mind  than  in  the  ordinary 
way  of  business,  there  was  brought  up  from  the  kitchen 
a  weighty  and  handsome  joint  of  ribs-of-beef,  deliciously 
fragrant  and  browned  and  garnished  with  horse-radish,  and 
a  couple  of  prodigious  Christmas  puddings,  one  of  which, 
ornamented  with  a  sprig  of  holly,  was  placed  on  either  side 
of  the  beef.  Within  the  first  ten  minutes  several  regular 
customers  came  in  and  Avere  passed  upstairs  by  the  Avaiter, 
but  it  was  fully  twenty  minutes  before  any  of  the  hungry 
fish  for  Avhcnn  the  AvindoAV  Avas  specially  baited  put  in  an 
appearance. 

It  neA^er  rains    l)ut  it  pours,  they  say,  and  when  at    last 


44  STBEET  AR'ABS  AND  G  VTTER  SXIPES. 

they  arrived  it  was  in  a  batch  of  three.  They  scarcely  could 
be  called  chaiue  ])assers-by,  however  :  nor  were  the}',  strictly 
speaking,  penniless.  They  were  three  boys,  dirty,  tattered, 
and  pinched  with  the  cold,  and  it  was  easy  at  a  glance  to 
discover  what  occupation  they  followed.  The  youngest, 
who  was  a  capless,  shoeless  little  wretch,  certainly  not  more 
than  eight  years  old,  had  a  "  cigar-light "  box  tucked  under 
his  arm ;  another,  a  couple  of  years  elder  perhaps,  who  car- 
ried the  stump  of  a  birch-broom  ;  Avhile  the  third,  who  was 
the  eldest  and  the  liungriest,  looking  the  most  decently 
dressed,  held  in  his  hand  a  few  newspapers  —  dismally 
''dead"'  stock,  considering  the  day  and  the  hour. 

The  faces  of  Mr.  and  ]\Irs.  Crackling  liglited  up  as  though 
the  impending  good-fortune  was  theirs  instead  of  the  trio 
of  poor  little  ragamuffins ;  and  Crackling,  from  beliind  his 
hand,  whispered  to  us,  "  Keep  your  eye  on  "em,  they  're  the 
sort."  We  did  as  requested,  as  well  as  the  steam  on  the 
-svindow-pane  would  permit.  It  A\as  evident  that  urgent  and 
anxious  debate  was  going  on  amongst  them.  They  scrutinized 
the  tempting  display  closely  and  critically,  but  apparently 
with  much  more  of  disappointment  than  admiration ;  they 
seemed  to  be  looking  for  sonu^thing  that  was  not  there. 
What  it  was  was  presently  made  known,  for  the  boy  with 
the  old  broom  stepped  in,  chinking  halfpence  in  his  hand. 

"Ain't  vou  got  no  plain,  mister  ?""  lie  inquired  of  Mr. 
Cracklintv.  With  an  unmoved  coTUitenance  that  wortliv 
tradesman  shook  his  head. 

"  Plain  plum  or  curran",  1  mean,""  pursued  the  "  crossing  " 
boy ;  "•  any  sort  '11  do."" 

"We  don't  keep  plain  sorts  on  Christmas  day,""  said 
Crackling ;  "  only  the  rich  kind  —  this  sort,""  and  lie  indicated 
one  of  the  luscious  spheres  with  the  holly-sprig  stuck  in  it. 
"  You  can  have  a  few  penn'orth  of  that  if  you  like  ;  it 's  dear, 
but  it's  beautiful  —  taste  it." 


SUHPBISES.  46 

And  lie  helped  the  boy  with  the  broom  with  a  piece  as 
large  as  a  walnut,  while  his  two  friends  outside,  with  their 
noses  pressing  the  window-pane,  stared  at  him  with  their 
mouths  agape  in  wonder  and  amazement. 

The  delicious  morsel  was  hot,  but,  rashly  eager  to  realize 
all  its  delights,  the  boy  '■'bolted'"  it,  and  it  burnt  his  throat. 
But  he  didn't  mind  that. 

••  How  much  of  it,"  he  gasped,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
"how  much  of  it  for  threepence?" 

Mr.  Crackling  cut  off  a  i)ortion  not  more  than  three  times 
larger  than  the  tasting  piece.  "  That 's  threepenn'orth,"  said 
he. 

The  broom-boy's  countenance  fell. 

"•  A  jolly  lot  o'  good  that  '11  be  for  three  hungry  coves," 
he  remarked ;  "  we  've  on"y  got  threepence  amongst  us." 

"  Then  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mr.  Crackling,  with  perfect 
seriousness,  ''  I  've  got  some  cold  suet-pudding  left  from 
yesterday,  and  I  can  serve  you  with  a  good  threepenn'orth 
of  that  if  you  like,  and,  being  Christmas  day,  I  don't  mind 
you  and  the  other  two  chaps  sitting  down  here  to  eat  it." 

The  broom-boy  retired  for  a  moment  to  make  known  the 
proposition  to  his  friends,  and  how  thankfully  it  was  accepted 
was  betokened  by  the  promptitude  with  which  they  all  three 
came  in. 

"  Go  and  sit  in  the  end  box,"*  said  Mr.  Crackling,  "  and 
I  '11  send  it  to  you."" 

They  did  as  they  were  bid,  and  we  could  hear  them 
whispering  together.  Tlie  two  who  had  remained  outside 
plied  the  broom-boy  with  eager  questi(jns  concerning  the 
"  liker ""  of  plum-pudding  they  had  seen  Mr.  Crackling  give 
him,  and,  with  the  flavor  of  it  still  tingling  his  palate,  he 
described  his  sensations  from  the  instant  it  touched  his  lips 
till  it  was  gone,  prematurely  engulfed,  in  terms  that  made 
them  smack  their  lips  audibly.     They  wondered  how  much 


46  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

of  "  cold  suett  V  "  they  would  get  for  their  threepence,  and 
argued  from  the  cookshop-man's  kindness  in  asking  them 
in  to  sit  down,  that  they  should  probably  get  "  a  whackin' 
lot "  for  their  money.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Crackling  was  gener- 
ously filling  their  hot  plates  with  l)eef,  and  pudding,  and 
baked  potatoes,  and  cabbage ;  and  wheii  all  were  ready  the 
waiter,  who  was  a  lanky  young  man,  with  no  doubt  a  good 
appetite  of  his  own,  but  who  nevertheless  evidently  experi- 
enced some  difficulty  in  concealing  his  disgust,  carried  the 
dinners  to  where  the  expectant  three  sat. 

We  raised  a  tiny  corner  of  our  curtain  that  we  might 
witness  the  effect  as  the  waiter  proceeded  to  lift  the  plates 
from  his  tray  and  to  place  them.  The  boys  gazed  in  speech- 
less amazement  at  the  attendant,  with  mouths  ajar,  and  then, 
like  boys  half  awakened  from  a  dream,  they  looked  at  each 
other.  The  poor  hungry-looking  newspaper-boy  turned 
white  as  a  sheet,  and  the  newspapers  he  had  tucked  into 
the  bosom  of  his  jacket  rustled  with  his  trembling.  The 
crossing-sweeper  was  the  first  one  to  recover  the  faculty 
of  speech.  He  lifted  his  plate  from  the  tablecloth  back  on 
to  the  tray. 

"  You  '11  get  yourself  into  a  jolly  row,  young  feller,"  said 
he  to  the  waiter,  in  a  severe  undertone.  "  Take  'em  away 
to  them  that  ordered  'em,  good  luck  to  yer,  before  the 
guvner  sees  yer.     Ourn  's  three  of  cold  suetty." 

"  Yours  is  what 's  giv'  you,"  returned  the  waiter,  haughtily, 
but  not  loud  enough  for  Mr.  Crackling  to  overhear  him, 
"an'  don't  (-heek  me,  so  I  tell  you." 

And  he  was  flouncing  out  of  the  box  when  the  broom-boy 
laid  a  detaining  hand  on  the  tails  of  his  coat. 

"  There  's  sumniat  wrong,  I  tell  you,"  he  exclaiuK'd.  '•  Hi, 
mister ! " 

This  last  to  Mr.  Crackling,  wlio  immediately  came  for- 
ward.    He  walked    up  to  the    table,  and  without    anything 


SUBPBISES. 


47 


in  his  countenance  to  provide  them  with  the  least  clue  to 
the  mystery,  in  full  vie\Y  of  them  and  their  plates,  remarked, 
"  If  you  three  boys  don't  keep  quiet  and  get  on  with  your 
dinners,  I  shall  have  to  be  angry  with  you,  and  you  won't 
'like  that,  I  promise  you." 

There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  The 
roast-beef  and  plum-pudding  were  intended 
for  them,  and,  as  Mr.  Crackling  retreated, 
the  newspaper-boy  remarked,  in  a  nervous 
wliisper,  to  the  broom-boy,  who  had  turned 
back  his  cuffs,  "What  are  you  goin'  to  do?" 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  get  on  with  my  lot  an' 
chance  it,"  was  the  sturdy  response,  "  an' 
you  "  (this  to  the  cigar-light  boy)  "  do  the 
same,  young  un,  while  it 's  'ot." 

"  But  what 's  the  reason  of  it  ?  " 

"  Gone  mad,  I  should  think,"  returned 
the  broom-boy,  bolting  a  baked  })otato. 

"But,"  gasped  the  timid  young  news- 
vender,  "  s'pose  he  was  to  come  to  liis 
senses  again  before  we  're  done  ?  " 

"  He  '11  have  to  change  very  sudden  if  he 
comes  to  his  senses  before  I  've  done,"  retorted  the  calm 
trencherman,  speaking  through  a  mouthful  of  plum-pudding ; 
"get  on,  an'  don't  jaw  so  much,  that's  a  good  feller." 

At  that  moment  a  short  couyh  from  Mr.  Cracklino-  caused 
US  to  look  shop  ward,  and  in  time  to  discern  at  the  street 
side  of  the  shop-window  a  gaunt  in<lividual,  whose  gra}'  hair 
betokened  him  as  being  past  middle  age.  His  clothes  were 
of  respecta1)le  cut,  though  Avofully  shabby,  with  the  coat- 
collar  secured  at  the  throat  witli  a  pin,  and  l)lue-nosed  and 
famished-looking  he  stood  blowing  on  his  kum-kles,  and 
staring  with  a  fascinated  gaze  at  the  roast-beef  kept  piping- 
hot  on  its  metal  dish.     Mr.  Crackling  gave  a  louder  cough. 


THE  CALM 
TRENCHERMAN 


48        .  STREET  AEABS  AXD  GUTTEIi  SNIPES. 

and  the  man  outside  started  and  looked  up,  and  misconstru- 
ing the  sound  to  ])e  an  indieation  of  the  shopkeeper's  displea- 
sure tliat  lie  should  stand  there  blocking  the  public  view  of 
the  viands  exposed  for  sale,  he  was  hastily  moving  off,  when 
he  must  have  seen,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  Mr.  Crackling 
beckoning  him.  He  was  no  beggar,  however,  and,  though 
he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  lie  walked  on. 

'•Did  you  ever  see  such  a  poor  starved  cat  of  a  man?'" 
remarked  Mrs.  Crackling  to  her  husband.  "Drat  him, 
poor  fellow  !  ^\^lly  did  n't  he  step  in  and  see  what  you  was 
beckoning  him  for?" 

But,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  hunger  of  the  gaunt  one 
rebelled  too  strongly  against  his  pride  to  consent  to  his 
throwing  away  even  the  remotest  chance,  and  slowly,  veiy 
slowly,  and  with  «inly  half  an  eye  towards  the  window,  he 
jjresently  passed  again.  He  must  have  been  blind  had 
he  missed  the  signal  this  time,  for  Mr.  Crackling  gesticulated 
him  with  all  the  energy  with  which  a  would-be  passenger 
hails  a  distant  and  almost  hopeless  omnibus.  He  affected 
surprise,  and  with  one  hand  in  the  bf)som  of  his  coat,  and 
with  an  old  glove  in  the  other,  he  turned  back  and  came 
a  step  or  two  into  the  shop. 

"I  beg  j)ardon,"  he  l)egan,  in  genteel  tones,  '"•  was  I  mis- 
taken when  1  thought  that  you  made  a  sign  that  you  wished 
to  speak  witli  me?" 

"  Quite    right,"  returned    Mr.  Crackling,  stooping  across . 
the  counter,  so  that  it  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  raise  his 
voice  al)Ove  a  wliisper  for  the    other    to    hear.     "I  wished 
to  ask  you  if  as  a  favor  —  as  a  favor,  mind  you,  to  my  wife 
as  well  as  myself  —  y(m  will  have  a  bit  of  dinner?" 

"We  could  see  plainly  enough  from  our  box  that  the  gaunt 
one  had  it  in  his  heart  to  resent  the  lil)erty  taken  with  his 
povertv,  and  to  stiffly  decline  the  invitation.  But  in  facing 
round,  probably  with  that  objei-t,  his  eyes  encountered  those 


SUBPBISES.  49 

of  Mrs.  Crackling  —  kindly,  pitying  eyes,  and  with  her  face 
in  such  a  pucker  of  womanly  sympathy  that  he  was  van- 
quished in  an  instant. 

''  God  bless  you  for  such  goodness  to  a  stranger,"  he  said, 
huskily. 

But  I  don't  think  Mr.  Crackling  heard  him,  he  was  so 
busy  with  his  carving-knife  on  the  ribs-of-beef.  He  had  not 
been  seated  with  a  well-filled  plate  before  him  five  minutes, 
when  my  suspicions  that  occasionally  Mr.  Crackling's  artful 
plan  for  relieving  the  necessitous  on  Christmas  day  might 
be  abused,  was,  I  am  afraid,  confirmed. 

Two  young  fellows  next  came  to  the  window,  and  had  his 
experience  been  as  extensive  as  mine  are  among  such  charac- 
ters, the  charitable  cookshop-keeper  would  have  recognized 
them  as  cadgers  of  the  true  Mint-street  type.  Either  they 
had  been  there  on  some  previous  year,  or  an  obliging  ac- 
(piaintance  had  put  them  up  to  it.  They  were  tattered  and 
threadbare,  but  as  much  as  was  shown  of  their  shirts  at  the 
chest  part  was  scrupulously  clean,  as  was  their  faces,  and 
their  hair  was  sleek  and  shiny  as  soap  could  make  it.  They 
were  dolefully  wending  their  melancholy  way,  when,  unex- 
pectedly, they  found  themselves  exactly  in  front  of  Mr. 
Crackling's  shop,  and  there  remained  transfixed  at  the 
abundance  of  delicious  food  there  exhibited.  They  overdid 
the  pantomime  to  such  an  extent  it  was  a  marvel  it  passed 
muster.  They  whimpered  and  whispered  dejectedly  one 
to  the  other,  and  hungrily  bared  their  teeth  as  they  eagerly 
pointed  at  the  beef  and  at  the  puddings;  they  tapped  their 
empty  pockets,  and  soothingly  chafed  their  waistbands  with 
an  open  hand  to  pacify  inner  complainings.  But  they  never 
once  looked  at  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Crackling,  and  seemed  startled 
as  though  electrified  when  the  former  presently  raised  his 
hand  and  beckoned  them  in. 

"I  suppose  you  chaps  could  eat  a  jolly  good  dinner  if  you 
could  get  one  for  nothing  ?     Go  and  sit  down." 


50  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEIi  SNIPES. 

"  Oh,  sir !  thank  you  kindly,  too ; "  and,  with  a  curious 
instinctive  knowledge  as  to  where  they  were  expected  to 
sit,  they  wiggled  their  way  to  a  box  in  an  instant. 

It  was  a  Ijarefaced  imposition ;  but  I  would  not  have 
opened  the  worthy  man's  eyes  to  the  cheat  that  had  been 
put  on  liim  on  any  account.  His  faith  was  tightly  2)inned 
to  the  sj^stem,  and,  as  far  as  I  had  seen,  in  the  majority  of 
cases  it  worked  well.  It  was  no  fault  of  his  that,  being 
prepared  to  entertain  at  least  a  dozen  penniless  guests,  only 
six  presented  themselves  during  the  hour  we  remained  there, 
though  more  may  have  come  in  after  we  came  away. 

Nor,  as  already  remarked,  were  three  of  the  hungry  com- 
pany absolutely  destitute  of  money  —  as  the  haughty  waiter 
found,  no  doubt,  to  his  deep  vexation  and  humiliation.  The 
three  young  gentlemen  who  had  just  entered,  having  dined 
to  their  hearts'  content,  came  to  the  counter,  and  the  crossing- 
sweeper,  being  spokesman,  gratefully  and  earnestly  thanked 
Mr.  Crackling  for  what  they  described  as  "the  best  tuck-out 
ever  had  in  all  our  lives.'"  And  then,  turning  to  the  haughty 
waiter,  the  broom-boy  further  remarked :  "  Likewise  we  're 
much  obliged  to  you  for  waitin'  on  us,  an'  we  've  left  you  a 
trifle  for  yourself  on  the  table."  It  was  the  threepence 
originally  mustered  among  them  to  pay  for  the  cold  suet- 
pudding. 

"  Aral) "  life  has  many  fascinations,  though  full  of  curious 
contradictions.  The  "  Arab  "  hunter  must  be  prepared  for 
endless  freaks  and  multiplied  dodges,  else  he  will  find  him- 
self outwitted  in  tlie  end.  With  an  air  of  injured  inno- 
cence they  protest  against  your  unjust  suspicion  of  them, 
and  cry  you  down  as  a  hard-hearted  "  genTman  as  'u'd  hurt 
a  feller  who  liad  trouble  enough  to  git  along  in  the  world." 
If  you  give  an  "Arab  '"  sound  advice,  and  a  little  money  to 
ratify  your  kindly  counsel,  you  had  best  not  always  look 


■■  I  suddenly  turned  to  my  little  man,  placed  the  packages  in   his  hands,  and  decamped.  " 

( Page  53.) 


SUBPBISES.  53 

back  over  your  shoulder  lest  you  might  have  an  awkward 
revulsion  of  feeling  in  discovering  that  you  have  been 
"sold."  The  lad  in  pantomime,  with  thumb  on  nose,  might 
impress  you  that  your  counsel  is  as  water  s})illed  on  the 
ground,  and  your  dime  will  speedily  lind  its  wa}'  to  the  cigar- 
sho^).  All  of  which  may  dull  the  edge  of  your  philanthropic 
zeal,  and  play  havoc  with  your  finer  feelings. 

On  one  occasion  I  saw  a  hungry-looking  lad  peering 
wistfully  through  the  window  of  a  city  baker3^  After 
watcliing  him  for  some  time  with  increasing  interest,  I 
entered  the  shop  and  made  a  small  purchase.  With  a  few 
substantials  *  in  their  paper  wrappings  I  took  my  stand  with 
apparent  unconcern  before  the  window,  and,  cautious  not  to 
drive  the  "wee  laddie"  from  his  unsatisfying  pleasure,  I 
purposely  looked  away  from  him.  But  in  solih){|uy  I  expati- 
ated on  the  buns  and  tarts  and  pies  before  me.  I  knew  at 
once  I  had  an  attentive  hearer  whose  appetite  I  was  whetting 
on  the  sharpening-stone  of  pie-eulogy.  Then,  hinting  at  the 
possibilities  of  some  boys  having  such  good  things  for  dinner 
and  harping  on  the  probabilities  that  other  boys  could  only 
enjoy  them  with  their  eyes,  I  suddenly  turned  to  ni}"  little 
man,  placed  the  packages  in  his  hands  and  decamped. 

I  had  only  time  to  notice  the  surprise  upon  his  face  before 
leaving.  I  wanted  the  lad  to  enjoy  fully  his  unexpected 
meal ;  but  I  had  scarcely  reached  a  neighboring  street 
when  it  became  my  turn  for  surprise.  As  if  the  ground 
behind  me  had  yawned  and  a  horde  of  young  vagrants  leaped 
out,  here  they  were,  troops  of  "Arabs  "  pursuing  me.  They 
headed  me  and  bombarded  me  right  and  left.  They  begged 
for  food  and  money  as  if  I  were  a  Rothschild,  How  he  of 
the  wistful  eyes  could  so  quickly  relate  my  generosity,  and 

*  It  is  crimiual  to  practise  the  mission-school  dodge  aud  surfeit  poor  cliildren  with 
cheap,  poisonous  cand)'  NVli)^  should  we  give  them  what  we  deny  to  our  own 
children  ?    Some  superintendents  shoulil  be  arrested  for  wholesale  poisoning. 


54  STliEET  ABAB8  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

muster  this  ragged  regiment,  is  among  many  of  the  street 
nn'steries  still  unfathomed. 

A  little  wisdom  gained  on  that  occasion  has  been  of  ser- 
vice ever  after.  Jack  and  Gill  must  noAV  promise  and  vow 
to  chew  their  cud  in  silence,  and  not  proclaim  their  "  luck  " 
to  mortal  boy  or  girl. 

The  gratitude  of  the  "Arab"  is  not  always  expressed  with 
elegant  phraseology.  There  is  more  point  than  roundness 
in  the  style.  The  tongue  lacks  oil,  l)ut  the  heart  jerks  out 
its  solid  utterances.  Behind  the  coarse  wrappings  of  their 
speech  lies  the  grateful  spirit ;  frequently  it  is  seen  in  the 
shining  eyes.  Unaccustomed  to  the  slang  phrase  "bully  for 
you,"  I  thought  at  first  it  meant  an  insult.  But  Avhen  I 
heard  a  prison  cha})lain  relate  the  conversion  of  a  young 
jailbird  who  in  narrating  his  experience  simply  said,  "  I  feel 
l)ully,'"  T  was  then  indoctrinated  into  the  rich  meaning  of  its 
usage,  and  learned  that  my  grateful  boy  had  spoken  his  best 
thanks,  I  need  not  furnish  the  polite  reader  with  further 
specimens  of  "  Arab  "  slang.  Their  mode  of  speech  is  little 
different  from  that  of  the  average  politician,  witli  which  we 
are  all,  unhappily,  so  familiar. 

'"T^wish  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  notwithstanding  the 
impositions  practised  by  street  vagrants  there  are  found 
among  them  examples  of  heroism,  of  affection,  of  honor,  and 
genuine  nobleness  of  character. 

"  Take  a  bigger  bite,  Billy,  perhaps  I  '11  find  another,"  said 
one  hungry  child  to  his  companion,  as  he  urged  him  to  eat 
more  of  the  peach  he  had  just  })icked  out  of  the  gutter. 
The  impulse  was  one  of  self-denial  and  inincely  generosity. 
True  charity  is  never  measured  by  what  is  given  but  by  how 
much  is  retained.  How  many  of  us  give,  with  ecj^ual  magna- 
nimity, the  biggest  part  of  our  peach? 

'•  Nothing  truly  can  be  termed  mine  own 
But  what  I  make  mine  own  by  using  Avell." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  ARABS'  "  ACADEMIES. 

Our  Free  Institutions.  —  The  City  of  Cliicago.  — A  Pandemonium  of  Vice. —"Arab" 
Literary  Ware.  —  Anthony  Comstock's  Mission. —  Studying  Througli  the  Window. 
—  Gloating  Over  Pictures.  —  Filching  a  File  in  Order  to  Buy  a  Paper.  —  All  Should 
Fight  This  Evil.  —  Lord  Derby's  Advice.  —  The  Low  Theatre.  —  The  Mimic  Faculty 
Characteristic  of  Human  Xature.  — '■  I've  Got  to  Come  Home  Boozed."  — Acting  to 
theLife.  — "The  Tipsy  Rascal  Aged  Eiglit."  — "  She  Cried  '  Murder,  Murder! '  "  — 
The  Arrest  — The  Heconciliation.  — Seeking  His  Pay.  —  "  Chuckin'  Handsprings 
and  Somersets."  —  How  the  Joke  Tickled  Him.  —  How  the  Grubby-faced  Actor 
Lived.  —  "  It  was  a  Strange  Story."  — The  Result  of  Visiting  Low  Theatres. 

QCHOOLS  of  all  kinds  abound  among  us.  From  the 
simple  country  loghouse,  to  the  more  imposing  univer- 
sity, we  can  boast  of  as  many  classical  advantages  as  any 
country  in  the  world.  The  national  system  of  our  public 
schools  cannot  certainly  be  equaled  outside  of  the  United 
States.  This,  I  believe,  is  conceded  by  visitors  from  other 
shores  qualified  to  judge.  Likewise,  every  child  being  equal 
in  the  eye  of  the  law,  all  share  in  the  common  privileges  of 
these  free  institutions.  But  all  do  not  prize  the  advantages 
secured  to  them,  hence,  apart  from  the  foreign  population 
crowding  in  upon  us,  there  are  not  a  few  of  our  own  sons 
and  daughters  whose  lack  of  education  is  sufficiently  evident. 
Their  ignorance  is  dense  as  a  London  fog  —  darkness  that 
may  be  felt.  "  Arabs  "  are  among  those  who  play  at  truant, 
and  who  manage  to  squeeze  between  the  various  scliool-com- 
mitteemen,  fully  eluding  their  grasj),  till  they  have  attained 
their  legal  majority  and  freedom  from  school-board  compul- 
sion. Nevertheless,  they  are  not  without  schools  of  their 
own  choice,  where  they  learn  tact  and  cunning,  and  other 
essentials  of  "  Arab  "  life. 

Take  the  city  of  Chicago,  for  example.     There  are  about 
one  hundred  free  and  private  schools,  besides  twice  as  many 


66 


STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


Sunday-schools,  missions,  and  churches.  To  counteract 
these  there  are  three  thousand  five  hundred  saloons,  beer- 
gardens,  and  dance-houses,  besides  gambling-dens,  and  other 
infamous  resorts.  The  patrons  of  all  these  places  are 
renewed  from  the  youth  of  the  city,  and  "  Arabs ''  flourish 
among  them.  The  vicious  instruction  received  in  these 
academies  depraves  the  most  innocent  very  quickly,  and  pre- 
pares them  for  daring  deeds 
and  riotous  living.  A  Chi- 
cago merchant  referring  to 
this  condition  of  tilings  re- 
ported :  — 

Our  children  cannot  live 
and  move  amongst  this 
Hood  of  pollution  without 
being  more  (u-  less  affected 
by  it.  And  hence  it  often 
happens  that  the  most  pious 
Christian  families  all  at 
once  discover  that  the  poi- 
son has  penetrated  even  the 
sanctity  of  their  own  homes 
in  some  boy  or  girl  becom- 
ing wavAvard.  and  the  irre- 
ligious do  not  seem  to  care 
anything  about  it.  And  so  we  have  thousands  of  youth  in  this 
o-reat  and  growing  cit}-,  even  now  far  advanced  in  their  educa- 
tion in  intemi)erance,  licentiousness,  debauchery,  and  crime. 
Our  jails  and  Bridewell  are  full  of  the  young  of  this  city. 
And  many  more  are  coming.  What  will  be  the  end  in  a  few 
years  hence,  if  this  state  of  things  continues  and  these 
schools  of  vice  go  on  multiplying  as  tliey  have  for  the  last 
few  years  ?     Who  can  tell  ? 


''ABABS'''  ACADEMIES.  57 

Now  does  it  not  behoove  the  citizens  of  Chicago  to  awake 
to  the  importance  of  this  subject  and  see  if  something  can't 
be  done  as  a  moral  and  economic  measure,  if  nothing  more, 
to  curtail  this  growing  evil  in  our  midst,  and  thus  prevent 
our  fair  city  from  becoming  a  pandemonium  of  vice.  We 
would  prefer  that  we  should  become  a  truly  Christian  people, 
but  if  we  cannot  attain  to  that  exalted  position,  may  we  not 
at  least  try  to  become  an  industricuis,  sober,  temperate 
people.  Shall  the  schools  of  vice  be  multiplied?  Is  it 
sound  })ublic  policy  ? 

Chicago  is  a  typical  city  in  many  respects  —  no  better,  no 
worse,  than  others.  Dark  haunts  wliich  are  schools  of  vice 
tlirive  elsewhere,  and  youthful  brigands  multiply  on  every 
hand. 

In  addition,  there  are  stands  and  shops  which  sui)ply  the 
*'  Arab  "  with  literary  ware.  Arrayed  in  their  settings,  inde- 
cent prints  ajjpeal  to  the  eye,  and  coai'se  descriptions  of 
gross  life  excite  the  imagination.  Standing  in  front  of  those 
poisonous  fountains  may  l)e  found  ragged  urchins  drinking 
in  with  all-al)Sorbing  interest  the  scandals  and  villainies  set 
forth  by  pen  and  pencil. 

A  young  vagabond,  with  the  design  of  frightening  his 
mother  into  com})liance  with  his  rascally  wishes,  lianged 
himself  to  a  door,  and  died  l)efore  help  was  obtained.  The 
evidence  before  the  coroner  })roved  conclusively  that  the 
vile  compound  of  literature  for  boys  and  girls  suggested  to 
liis  mind  this  frolicsome  adventure.  -^ 

The  concocters  and  retailers  of  intoxicating  beverages  are 
doing  their  part  iu  the  destruction  of  young  life ;  but  I 
question  if  their  evil  fruit  is  more  alnindant  than  that  borne 
by  the  traffickers  in  })ernicious  literature.  These  blood- 
suckers, who  write  and  print  only  to  corrupt,  deserve  the 
extremest  sentence  of  outraged    law.      The    unearthing    of 


58  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

hideous  plots  liatched  for  i)ersoiial  gain,  by  that  intrepid 
officer,  Anthony  Conistock,  startles  us  to  think  such  diabf)Iic 
attempts  have  been  made  to  ruin  our  sons  and  daughters. 
Much  of  their  dastardly  trade  has  been  uprooted,  yet  a 
refined  nastiness  is  still  retailed  in  the  sensational  literature 
sold  at  the  stands  and  publicly  hawked  on  the  streets. 
Coarse  prints  illustrating  brutal  murders,  cleverly-executed 
robberies,  or  barbarous  pugilistic  encounters,  are  on  pul)lic 
exhil;)ition.  Pen  and  })eiicil  are  employed  io  s})read  moral 
infection  and  physical  ('()rru})tion.  Parents  are  growing- 
wiser  in  counseling  their  cliildren,  and  in  seeking  to  protect 
them  from  these  pollutions.  But  what  of  the  lads  and 
lasses  left  wholly  free  to  the  destroyer?  That  which 
(quickly  creates  a  relish  for  wickedness  is  under  their  eye; 
aye,  and  in  spite  of  State  legislation,  from  that  exposed  class 
come  many  inmates  of  our  asylums  and  our  prisons. 

There  were  two  little  lads  who  dwelt  with  their  respective 
parents  under  one  roof,  tlie  one  being  a  schoolboy,  aged 
nine,  and  in  his  Avay  a  scholar,  and  the  other  a  year  or  so 
older,  a  poor  neglected  waif  of  no  education  at  all,  who  did 
not  know  one  letter  of  the  alphabet  from  another.  Never- 
theless, the  latter's  craving  after  knowledge  was  like  that  of 
a  thirsty  creature  for  water.  Somehow  or  other  he  became 
possessed  of  such  a  yearning  for  literature  "of  a  certain  sort 
that,  being  unable  without  aid  to  gratify  it.  Ins  life  became 
a  misery  and  a  burden  to  him.  His  daily  occupation  being 
the  care  of  an  infant  sister,  his  habit  was,  with  her  on  liis 
shoulder,  to  haunt  the  shops  of  newsvenders  where  cheap 
illustrated  serials  are  displayed.  The  poor  dunce  could  not 
read  the  i)rint,  but  lie  could  make  out  the  meaning  of  the 
pictures.  When  he  saw  depicted  a  dashing  gentleman 
mounted  on  a  liorse,  with  a  crape  mask  concealing  the  upper 
part  of  his  features,  and  wearing  a  three-cornered  hat,  and 


'ARABS'  "  ACADEMIES. 


59- 


with  a  pistdl  in  his  hcaiid  pointed  at  the  liead  of  the 
frightened  gnard  of  a  mail-coach,  he  had  no  doubt  in  his 
mind  but  that  it  was  a  stoiy  of  whicli  some  renowned  high- 
wayman was  the  hero;  aiid  he  yearned  to  know  what  it  was 
all  about.  There  were  all 
manner  of  pictures  of  the 
same  class.  (_)f  pirates  at 
their  murderous  work  oil 
the  high  seas,  of  burglars 
engaged  in  mortal  strife 
with  the  affrighted  house- 
holder, who  has  sprung  out 
of  bed  to  defend  his  i)rop- 
erty,  and  Tyburn  hangings, 
and  heroic  rescues  by  the 
condemned  man's  "pals" 
at  the  very  instant  Avhen 
Mr.  Ketch  is  about  to  draw, 
away  the  cart  from  ])eneath 
the  convict's  feet.  The 
ignorant  boy  gloated  over 
pictures  such  as  these, 
until  he  grew  desperate. 

He  knew  a  means  by  Avhich  his  fierce  longing  might  be,  at 
all  events,  in  some  small  degree  assuaged.  He  used  to  lie  in 
wait  for  the  boy  already  mentioned,  at  noon  and  at  evening 
as  he  came  out  of  school,  and,  either  by  threats  or  ^persua- 
sion, induce  him  to  accompany  him  to  the  newsvender's  shop 
window,  and  read  out  to  him  the  brief  ])ortion  of  print  that 
appeared  on  the  page  with  the  woodcut.  But,  alas!  this 
solace  was  but  small,  and  very  often  acted  only  as  an  aggra- 
vation. "  At  that  instant,  and  just  as  bold  Bill,  knife  in 
hand,  had  planted  his  knee  firmly  on  his  victim's  chest,  a 
crashing  as  with  a  sledge-hammer  was  heard  at  the  door 
and"  — 


60  STllEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

And  what  ?  Jt  was  enougli  almost  to  tempt  the  excited 
listener  to  demolish  a  pane  of  glass,  so  as  to  be  able  to  turn 
over  the  page  and  have  the  next  few  lines  read  to  him.  But 
one  day  something  that  nearly  approached  a  catastrophe 
occurred.  The  lad  with  the  hungering  desire  met  the 
sch<)oll)oy  once  more,  the  scraps  were  read  out  to  the  former, 
and  in  this  case  with  such  a  tantalizing  l)reaking  off  that 
human  nature  could  not  endure  it.  Bidding  the  schoolboy 
remain  where  he  was  just  for  a  few  minutes,  the  little  rascal 
Avent  f)ut  into  Peter  Street,  and  there  finding  the  stall  of  a 
secondhand  tool-dealer,  he  filched  a  file  therefrom,  sold  it  at 
a  ragshop,  for  a  })enny,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  was  back 
at  the  paper-shop,  where  the  coveted  purchase  was  made ; 
and  sitting  on  a  doorstep,  a  feast  of  eight  full  pages  was 
commenced.  But  the  theft  of  the  file  was  discovered  and 
tlie  thief  was  followed,  and  so  it  was  that  the  story  came  out. 

The  influential  papers  which  array  themselves  in  battle 
against  all  kinds  of  liurtful  literature  merit  the  thanks  of 
the  nation.  Are  there  not  other  vigorous  writers  to  ste[) 
into  the  arena  girded  with  righteous  indignation  to  smite 
this  monster  of  inicputy  with  manly  courage?  It  would 
also  be  hailed  as  a  reform  in  the  right  direction  if  the 
ministers  who  help  to  sustain  certain  serials  by  tlieir  contri- 
butions hurled  their  shining  lances  against  them,  until  every 
publisher  is  compelled  to  purge  out  the  leaven  of  wickedness 
from  his  columns.  1  am  well  persuaded  that  such  sources 
of  youthful  demoralization  would  soon  be  dried  uj),  if  the 
more  enlightened  portions  of  the  coniiuunity  waged  a  vigor- 
ous aiul  persistent  war  against  them. 

Tiiiidc  of  the  poor  lads  who  are  in  danger,  ami  that  every 
traj)  removed  from  their  |)athway  has  its  beneficent  value. 
One  vile  sheet  hidden  fr(1m  a  sensitive  youth  will  be  of 
\uitold   benefit    to    him.     \n    closing  these  schools   of   vice. 


'■'ABABS'''  ACADE3IIES.  61 

and  in  leading  their  feet  to  the  open  door  of  free  and  eleva- 
ting education,  we  are  doing  a  work  of  true  benevolence 
for  the  ''Arab." 

Lord  Derby  gave  pithy  advice  when  he  said:  "If  you 
look  at  the  matter  selfiMy,  it  is  very  much  your  interest 
to  give  these  lads  a  lift,  because  they  are  exactly  at  an  age 
when  habits  of  industry  and  honesty  on  the  one  hand,  and 
of  idleness  and  vice  on  the  other,  are  permanently  formed. 
It  is  now  or  never  for  them.  The  next  two  or  three  years 
will  probably  decide  whether  they  are  as  workers  to  increase 
the  public  wealth,  or  whether  tliey  are  to  lessen  it  by  living 
upon  it  for  the  rest  of  their  days  as  paupers,  vagrants,  or 
possibly  Avorse." 

Ignorance  has  ever  been  the  bane  of  the  masses ;  it  bears 
the  evil  fruits  of  vice  and  im})rovidence.  What  would 
occur  if  the  restraining  Ijouncls  of  Christianity  were  thrown 
down  has  been  exemplilied  in  the  reign  of  the  Commune. 
The  undeveloped  evil  in  the  young  "■Arab,"'  if  left  to  work 
out  its  unrestrained  action,  may  lead  to  serious  consequences. 
A  match  will  blow  up  a  magazine;  a  lamp  set  Chicago  on 
fire.  "Prevention  is  better  than  cure."  If  the  ignorant 
classes  grow  restive  under  a  period  of  commercial  stagnation, 
they  may  turn  upon  the  very  persons  who  took  no  personal 
interest  in  training  therii  to  a  better  life. 

The  low  theatre  and  obscene  plays  are  other  sources 
of  youthful  debasement.  The  eye  and  ear  are  the  open 
channels  through  which  the  foul  stream  flows,  polluting 
the  mind  and  corrupting  the  heart.  Within  the  walls  of 
the  variety-theatre  untold  mischief  is  bred.  Children  of 
both  sexes  have  been  inoculated  with  forms  of  wickedness 
like  a  spreading  plague  which  lias  no  limits.  Stage-struck 
with  the  plots,  and  intoxicated  with  the  accompaniments, 
these  young  votaries  of  comedy  and  tragedy  have  been  swept 
onward  on  the  dark  wave  of  damnina'  vice. 


62 


^STltEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


The  mimic  faculty  is  characteristic  of  human  nature,  and, 
as  its  natural  tendency  is  ever  downward,  we  do  not  wonder 
that  the  worst  things  are  repeated  and  the  coarsest  scenes 
rememliered.       "  Arab? "    are   not   slow   to    learn    in   these 


schools.  Their  powers  of  imitation  are  abnormally  great. 
Mr.  Greenwood  furnishes  us  with  the  following  serio-comic 
drama  of  which  he  was  sole  spectator :  — 

It  was  not  long  since,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  protracted 
spell  of  rain}^  weather,  that  I  witnessed  a  performance  of 
peculiar  interest. 


''AliABS'"  ACADEMIES.  63 

There  were  five  actors  in  the  piece,  and  at  a  ghmce  it  was 
apparent  they  were  not  all  of  one  family.  The  two  elder 
of  the  party  were  a  boy  and  a  girl  of  unmistakably  Irish 
parentage,  and  with  unkempt  and  "  carrotty  "  heads  of  hair, 
tlieir  respective  ages  being,  perhaps,  eight  the  boy,  and  six 
the  girl.  The  latter  was  nursing  a  red-headed  baby  —  her 
sister.  The  other  two  performers  were  a  girl  and  a  boy, 
distinctly  of  the  "alley"  type,  each  aged  seven  probably,  and 
like  each  other  only  as  regards  tlieir  rags  and  the  stamp 
of  shameful  neglect  deeply  impressed  on  the  poor  bony  little 
frames  and  on  their  sharp-cut,  pale,  and  hungry  faces.  The 
theatre  was  a  dilapidated  shed  in  a  corner  of  a  court,  which 
was  used  as  a  receptacle  for  a  sweep's  full  bags  of  soot,  the 
latter  serving  as  convenient  seats  for  those  performers  who 
for  the  moment  were  not  engaged  on  the  "stage."  The 
piece  in  progress  included,  on  the  part  of  the  elder  carrotty 
boy,  an  impersonation  of  a  drunken  man,  the  original  being 
]>robably  his  own  father,  his  sister  taking  the  part  of  the 
distracted  and  ill-used  mother,  and  the  carrotty  baby  their 
child.  Taking  refuge  under  the  archway  in  a  sudden  pelt- 
ing shower,  I  was  just  in  time,  an  unnoticed  witness,  to 
overhear  the  chief  male  actor  exclaimino- :  — 

"  Now,  I  've  got  to  come  home  boozed,  don't  you  know, 
and  you  are  sittin'  up  for  me,  and  you  begin  to  snack  me 
about  it,  and  then  there 's  a  jolly  row.  You  two  are  the 
lodgers  in  the  back-room,"  he  continued,  addressing  the 
other  girl  and  boy ,  "  and  you  don't  come  in  till  you  hear 
Liz  scream  '  Murder  ! '  " 

On  which  the  actors  last  addressed  for  the  present  took 
a  back  seat  on  the  soot-bags,  and  the  red-haired  boy's  sister 
with  the  baby  in  her  arms  posed  as  the  weary  wife  sitting 
up  for  her  drunken  husband.  She  must  have  been  familiar 
with  the  original,  and  closely  studied  it  to  have  been  able 
to  copy  it  so  naturally.     Seated  on  a  front  soot-bag,  she  took 


64  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

off  lier  ragged  little  apron,  and  having  withdrawn  a  hairpin 
from  her  ruddy  locks  so  as  to  allow  her  hair  to  fall  about 
her  face,  she  tied  the  apron  over  her  head  and  under  her 
chin,  and  hugging  the  baby  in  her  arms  sat  rocking  it  and 
sleepily  crooning  an  Irish  song,  at  times  rubbing  her  eyes 
and  shrugging  her  narrow  shoulders  as  though  she  were 
cold. 

Presently  her  ''  hus])and,"  Avho  meanwhile  had  retired  to 
the  back  of  the  shed  to  make  preparations,  came  staggering 
in  in  an  advanced  state  of  intoxication.  With  a  bit  of 
crooked  stick  in  his  mouth  to  represent  a  short  pipe,  and 
with  his  tattered  waistcoat  buttoned  awry,  his  old  cap 
perched  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  hands  thrust  into 
his  trouser's  pockets,  he  stumbled  into  the  shed,  and,  leaning 
against  the  doorjamb,  demanded,  with  a  thick  utterance, 
and  with  many  hiccups  (wonderfully  rendered),  Avhat  she 
was  sitting  there  for,  and  why  she  had  not  gone  to  bed. 

"  And  what  'u'd  l)e  the  good  of  my  goin'  to  bed,"  was  the 
angry  retort,  "to  be  dragged  out  again  to  pull  the  boots 
off  of  a  drunken  beast  like  yourself?" 

And  then  the  childish  voice  waxed  more  wrathful  still, 
and  was  raised  to  a  shrill  pitch,  and  she  upbraided  him  with 
spending  his  earnings  in  the  public-house,  whilst  she  was 
sitting  up  without  so  much  as  half  a  pint  of  beer  to  comfort 
her.  The  tipsy  rascal,  aged  eight,  began  to  jeer  at  this,  and 
reeling  towards  her,  bade  her  buy  beer  for  herself  if  she 
wanted  any,  since  she  had  money  in  her  pocket  to  do  so. 
Promptly,  and  as  though  it  were  really  the  fact,  the  six-year- 
old  sister  on  this  turned  fiercely  on  him  declaring  the  few 
pennies  she  earned  at  the  washtub  she  meant  to  keep,  having 
a  better  use  for  it  than  to  make  such  a  disgusting  pig  of 
herself  as  he  was. 

"  O,  you've  got  the  jiennies  and  you  want  to  keep  'em, 
do  you?"  cried  the  dreadful  little  reprobate,  dashing  down 


'■'ARABS'"'  ACADEMIES.  65 

/ 
his  pipe  and  his  cap,  and  turning  back  the  cuff  of  ]us  ragged 
jacket.  "  We  '11  jolly  soon  see  about  that !  "  And,  Avithout 
more  ado,  he  attacked  her,  and  hauling  her  off  the  bag  of 
soot,  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  abstract  the  money  from 
the  pocket  of  her  dress.  Adroitly  setting  the  baby  aside 
so  that  it  might  not  be  hurt  in  the  struggle,  she  resisted 
with  all  her  might,  and  made-believe  to  pull  his  hair  and 
scratch  his  face,  which  so  infuriated  him  that  he  scrambled 
to  his  feet  and  pretended  to  kick  her,  viciously  making 
"  Hish,  hisli,  hish !  "  through  his  clenched  teeth  at  every 
kick. 

At  this  she  cried  "Murder,  murder!"  which  was  the  cue 
for  the  two  "lodgers" — the  two  playmates  already  men- 
tioned—  to  hasten  in.  To  the  life  they  enacted  the  de- 
meanor of  persons  who  had  been  affrighted  out  of  their 
peaceful  slumber,  and  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  the  prostrate 
victim,  at  the  same  time  indignantly  reproaching  the  ruffian 
for  his  brutality,  and  endeavoring  to  drag  him  away  from 
her.  But  now  his  blood  was  up  ;  and  as  though  he  were  no 
more  than  a  mere  ninepin,  he  bowled  over  the  intrusive  male 
lodger,  and  then  made  as  though  demolishing  the  furniture, 
stamping  and  raving  about  the  shed,  and  in  the  end  driving 
the  two  lodgers  out  by  threatening  to  knock  their  heads  off 
with  an  imaginary  upraised  chair.  They  rushed  away,  and 
presently  returned  personating  two  policemen,  imitating 
with  their  diminutive  naked  feet  the  resolute  tramp  of  stern 
constables,  and  speaking  in  a  gruff  and  determined  voice. 

"  Hallo,  here ! "  exclaimed  the  small  female,  marching 
up  to  and  collaring  the  delinquent,  "  what  sort  of  caper  do 
you  call  this,  hey  ?  We  warned  you  last  time  that  we 
would  n't  be  sent  for  again  for  nothing.  Out  you  come,  and 
(juick,  too,  or  you  '11  get  a  crack  over  the  head  that  '11  make 
you  quiet." 

And  they  both  —  she  and  the  other  half-starved  mite    in 


66  SritEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SNIBES. 

ragged  knickerbockers  —  drew  imagiiiury  staves,  and  shook 
tlieni  at  him  threateningly.,  When  matters  arrived  at  this 
2)ass,  the  make-believe  assaulted  woman  on  the  ground  rose 
to  her  feet  and  begged  of  the  two  policemen  not  to  take 
him,  at  the  same  time  decla,ring  that  it  was  all  her  fault ; 
that  he  was  the  best  of  husbands  when  he  had  n't  taken  a 
drop  to  drink  and  was  n't  aggravated.  On  which  the  officers 
grumblingly  took  their  departure,  reappearing  again  a 
moment  afterwards  in  their  previous  cliaracter  as  the  two 
lodgers.  They  were  warm  in  their  congratulations  to  the 
wife-kicker  on  his  escape  from  being  locked  up,  and  earnest 
in  their  persuasions,  "for  the  dear  baby's  sake,"  that  the 
quarrelsome  couple  should  "have  a  drain,  and  make  it 
up  "  —  a  proposition  which  was  received  with  favor  by  the 
husband,  who  first  became  mollified,  and  then  maudlin  — 
weeping  and  wiping  his  eyes  on  his  old  cap,  declaring  him- 
self a  beast  and  a  brute,  and  as  fitter  to  have  a  brick  tied  to 
his  neck,  and  be  thrown  into  the  river,  than  to  be  blessed  with 
such  a  jewel  of  a  wife  as  he  had.  Hearing  this,  his  ill-used 
])artner  relented,  and  producing  from  her  pocket  what  was 
supposed  to  be  the  juice  of  half  a  pint  of  rum,  the  female 
lodger  pretended  to  fetch  it ;  and  after  they  had  severally 
drank  all  round,  —  out  of  an  oyster-shell,  —  peace  was 
effectually  restored,  an  extemporized  jig  was  indulged  in  by 
the  whole  company,  and  the  game  came  to  an  end. 

I  have  remarked  that  I  was  an  unnoticed  spectator  of  this 
domestic  drama.  At  its  commencement  such  was  the  case, 
but  I  soon  had  reasons  for  suspecting  that  one  of  the  actors 
was  aware  that  1  was  taking  an  interest  in  the  performance. 
This  was  the  elder  boy  —  the  drunken  husband  and  wife- 
kicker.  J  observed  several  times  that  he  cast  a  glance  in  my 
direction,  and  that  he  appeared  for  the  sake  of  effect  to  be 
exerting  liimself  more  than  simple  pastime  with  his  young 
companions  called  for.     1  was  not  mistaken,  for  as  soon  as 


A  CHIEF  SOURCE  OF  ARABISM, 


'^ABABS'"  ACADEMIES.  69 

the  play  was  over  and  he  had  quaffed  his  share  of  the  make- 
believe  liquor  and  finished  with  the  jig,  cap  in  hand  and 
grinning,  he  came  to  me  and  inquired  if  I  had  got  a  copper 
to  spare  for  the  poor  play-actors. 

"If  it  is  only  a  penny,  sir,  it  will  be  better 'n  nothin'." 

"  But  what  would  be  the  good  of  a  penny  among  so  many 
of  you.  You  are  all  together,  and  would  share  it,  of 
course  ?  "  said  I. 

"Ah,  that's  only  when  we're  playin',"  returned  the 
"  heavy  ruffian,"  his  grinning  face  growing  serious  ;  "  it 's 
different  looking  up  the  cash.  Them  two  isn't  anythin' 
to  do  with  me.  (The  lodgers  he  alluded  to.)  No,  thanky  ; 
I  've  got  quite  enough  of  'em  to  look  after  without."  And 
as  he  glanced  toward  his  sister  (who  was  now  comforting 
the  baby  in  the  midst  of  a  fit  of  coughing,  probably  brought 
on  by  inhaling  the  soot,  a  cloud  of  which  had  accompanied 
the  winding-up  dance),  his  young  face  grew  grave  and  anx- 
ious as  that  of  a  middle-aged  father  of  a  family. 

'•  What  do  you  mean  when  you  say  that  you  have  to  look 
after  them?"  I  asked.  "You  are  expected  to  see  that  they 
don't  get  into  mischief,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Somethin'  more  'n  that,"  he  replied,  with  a  sober  wag  of 
his  red  head.  "  I  've  got  to  find  grub  for  'em.  There 's 
another  one  of  'em  —  my  young  brother  Bill.  He  's  a-sittin' 
by  the  fire  in  the  kitchen  'coz  he  can't  walk." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Bill,  then  ?     Is  he  a  cripple  ?  " 

The  old  look  gave  place  to  a  grin  again  as  he  replied :  — 

"You  wouldn't  say  so  if  you  was  to  see  him  chuckin' 
handsprings  and  somersets  a-side  of  the  'buses.  It  Avas 
the  wheel  of  a  hack  what  went  over  his  toes  that  lamed 
him." 

"  But  where  are  your  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  Father 's  down  at  the  docks,  or  somewhere,  I  suppose, 
lookin'    after   a  job.      Mother,    she    works   over   in    Tooley 


70  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPESi 

Street,  at  the  tater-sack  makiii\  Tliey  goes  out  fust  thing 
in  the  mornin'  and  comes  home  hist  thing  at  night.  That 's 
all  we  see  of  'em." 

"  But  would  n't  it  be  better  to  stay  indoors  this  bad 
weather  ?  " 

"  Can't ;  they  lock  the  door  of  our  room,  for  fear  we 
might  fall  out  o'  wilder  or  set  the  place  on  fire,  or  some- 
thin'."  '^ 

"And  3^ou,  being  the  eldest,"  I  remarked,  "are,  I  suppose, 
trusted  with  tlie  money  to  buy  food  for  your  brother  and 
sister  all  day  long  ?  " 

He  grinned  again,  and  then  laughed  outright,  the  joke 
tickled  him  so. 

"  Ketch  'em  leavin'  an}^  money  along  o'  me,"  he  presently 
made  answer.  "  The  way  of  it  is  this,  mistei'.  We  has  some 
bread  and  coffee  before  mother  goes  out  in  the  mornin",  and 
all  we  gets  'twixt  then  and  eight  or  nine  at  night  is  what  I 
picks  up.  When  mother  comes  home  we  have  some  of  what 
she  brings  home  for  supper,  and  that 's  the  lot." 

"  But  your  father,  don't  he  bring  home  any  money  ?  "  A 
resentful  scowl  distorted  the  bo3''s  mobile  face  as  he 
replied :  — 

"  A  rare  lot  he  brings  home !  More  like  he  'd  take  away 
what  I  get  if  lie  finds  the  chance.  He  'd  do  it  more,  only 
mother  rounds  on  him  about  it,  and  sticks  up  for  us.  A 
stunnin'  mother  she  is,  too, "  continued  the  grateful  young 
"  street  Arab,"  admiringly.  "  No  matter  how  he  punches  her 
and  pastes  her,  she  won't  give  in  about  that.  '  What 
he'  —  that's  me,  you  know  —  'ever  picks  up,'  sez  she,  'let 
him  divide  it  among  'em,  and  if  you  take  it  away  from  'em, 
you  '11  have  to  settle  with  me  for  it  when  I  come  home  I '  " 

"  But  what  is  it  you  do  pick  up,  and  where  ?  " 

"O,  anythin'  —  anywheres;  I  ain't  pertickler,"  replied 
the  grubby-faced  young  actor,  on  the  instant  becoming  light- 
hearted  again.      "But  I  can't  get  about    and    do    anythin' 


"■ARABS'"  ACADEMIES.  73 

while  it 's  rainin'.  Sometimes  I  works  the  'buses,  like  I  was 
(loin'  when  the  cab-wheel  went  over  young  Bill's  toes, 
and  sometimes  I  play  on  the  tin-whistle,  or  I  go  hunting  for 
bones  and  rags,  or  p'raps  I  takes  my  bag  and  goes  down  to 
the  river  and  picks  up  enough  coals  to  sell  for  tuppence  ov, 
threepence.  It 's  no  use  bein'  pertickler,  don't  you  know, 
when  there  's  two  or  three  of  'em  lookin'  to'rds  you  for  a  bit 
of  wittles." 

And  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke  that  no  man 
would  have  been  anything  but  gratified  to  see  in  the  eyes  of 
a  little  son  of  his  own.  It  was  a  strange  story.  The  poor 
hard-working  drudge,  the  mother,  able  with  her  toiling  from 
morning  till  night  to  buy  only  half  a  loaf  in  place  of  a 
whole  one  for  her  unlucky  progeny  ;  the  dissolute,  lazy  father, 
who  rather  than  work  would  '  rob  his  child  of  its  vagabond 
gleanings ;  the  ragged,  sturdy,  ready-witted  ragamuffin,  aged 
eight,  who  stood  before  me,  and  who,  according  to  his  own 
account,  acted  the  part  of  father  and  mother  as  well  to  his 
younger  brothers  and  sisters  day  after  day. 

''  Acted  the  part?  "  I  had  witnessed  with  what  fidelity  he 
could  represent  a  drunkard  ruffian's  treatment  of  his  wife ; 
was  he  still  exercising  his  powers  of  personation,  and 
endeavoring  to  pass  with  me  as  a  little  hero  of  gutter-life, 
whereas  in  reality  he  was  only  waiting  for  what  he .  could 
wheedle  me  out  of,  to  adjourn  to  the  sweetstuff  shop  with 
his  sister  and  the  two  "  lodgers  "  and  make  merry  over  the 
recollection  of  how  nicely  I  had  been  taken  in  ?  I  may  be 
doing  the  poor  little  chap  an  injustice  by  insinuating  such  a 
possibility.  There  is  a  doubt,  and  a  broad  one,  and  he  shall 
have  the  benefit  of  it. 

The  idea  of  acting,  and  the  formation  of  the  plot,  must^ 
have  been  the  result  of  his  attending  school  in  some  low 
theatre. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

UNNATURAL   PARENTS. 

"  Sairey  Gamp"  and  "Mrs.  Harris."  —  Mistress  Society.  —  Suffering  Children.  —  Un- 
natural Parents.  —  A  Diminutive  Female.  —  "Xow  They  Fit  Lovely."  —  The  Poor 
Old  Cobbler.  —  CalUng  on  Crispin. —  "  lie  Did  Pretty  Well  as  a  'Translator.'"  — 
"That's  Her  Cuss  and  Mine  too."  — The  Drunken  Wife.  — The  Relieving  Officer's 
Discovery.  —  A  Healthy  Child  Reduced  to  Seventy  Ounces.  —  Terrible  TragetUes. — 
Stepmothers.  —  Dark  Deeds.  —  "It  Never  Had  a  Garment."  —  Bacchus  auil  Moloch. 
—  The  Ravages  of  Drunkenness. —  Royalty  Among  the  Lowly.  —  "My  Heart  is 
Mos' Bruck."  — The  Three  Woolly  Black  Heads.  — "Five  Cents  a  Sack  for  Her 
Work."  —  "Mudder,  Let's  Go."  —  The  Batli,  Clothing,  and  Warm  Soup. 

^T^HE  best-cared-for  babies  have  cause  to  complain.  Nurses 
are  not  always  the  most  delicate  or  tender-hearted. 
"  Sairey  Gamp  "  belongs  to  a  numerous  family,  even  if  the 
mysterious  "  Mrs.  Harris  "  should  have  no  existence.  Many 
an  infant  in  its  own  extraordinary  language  calls  Nurse,  Curse. 
What  between  bathing  and  bandaging,  feeding  and  fondling, 
dosing  and  dandling,  poor  l)aby  has  a  hard  time  of  it. 
Mamma's  "  darling  "  and  sister's  "pet," papa's  "  cherub  "  and 
brother's  "  Hello,  young  one  !  "  has  to  endure  infinite  tossings, 
besides  the  risk  it  must  run  with  foolish  aunts,  silly  cousins, 
and  doting  grandmas.  Even  growth  out  of  the  infantile 
condition  is  not  protection  to  the  most  fortunate.  Preco- 
ciousness  is  encouraged  and  injudiciously  developed.  They 
are  crimped  or  curled,  laced  or  ruffled,  girdled  and  squeezed. 
In  addition  they  have  colics  and  croups,  superinduced  by 
improper  treatment  or  criminal  neglect.  What  wonder  then 
that  little  ones  take  wings  and  fly  away  ?  The  children  of 
the  poor  generally  escape,  although,  the  Lord  knows,  they 
have  their  trouble  ;  but  as  for  the  children  of  the  wealtliier 
classes  —  well,  may  lieaven  pity  them  !  Mauled  by  the  nurse, 
physicked  by  the  doctor,  surfeited  by  parents,  turned  into 
apes  by  governesses,  and   into  strutting  peacocks  by  that 


UNNA  T  URAL  PARENTS. 


75 


dissipated,  Frenchified,  despotic  old  hag.  Mistress  Society, 
instead  of  happy,  rollicking  childhood,  we  have  stilted 
young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen.  We  heartily  wish  the 
Grundys  and  Brummells  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.     We 


wish  it  on  behalf  of  helpless  little  ones  who  cannot  protect 
themselves  from  the  freaks  of  fasliion  and  the  follies  of  pride. 
Why  should  Christian  parents  cry  loudly  against  the  Chinese 
practice  of  torturing  their  children's  feet,  when  tlieir  own 
suffer  torments  with  strangely  shaped  misfits  ?     Is  it  refining 


76  STREET  ABABS  AND  G  UTTEB  SNIPES. 

or  liealtli-giving  to  pierce  their  ears,  squeeze  their  delicate 
hands  into  non-elastic  gloves,  and  garter  their  legs  until  all 
natural  circulation  is  destroyed  ?  Oh  !  no.  All  other  nations 
are  cruel  to  the  rising  generation  but  our  own.  And  stranger 
things  occur.  We  are  often  startled  by  the  ghastly  reports 
of  the  daily  press,  and  sometimes  question  if  the  inhuman 
conduct  of  parents  toward  their  children,  detailed  with 
minute  shockingness,  can  really  be  true.  There  are  stories 
of  severe  beatings,  horrible  mutilations,  and  dastardly  inhuman 
treatment  of  children  by  parents  and  professed  guardians. 
There  are  descriptions  of  cruelty  —  wringing  of  the  heart's- 
blood  of  helpless  little  victims,  nothing  short  of  devilish. 
The  Herods  have  not  all  died  out.  From  this  proud 
Republic,  from  the  boastful  em})ires  of  Europe,  from  so-called 
Christian  England  —  the  central  head  of  Christendom,  arises 
the  loud-piercing  wail  of  anguish,  wrung  from  wretched 
children,  who  are,  alas !  frequently  tortured  on  the  rack  of 
parental  lust  and  greed. 

The  tragedies  of  the  streets  occasionally  come  to  light, 
while  deep,  dark  silence  settles  down  on  untold  deeds  and 
nameless  horrors  committed  by  monsters  who  have  forfeited 
all  right  to  the  tender,  holy  relation  of  father  or  mother. 
An  attempt  to  describe  many  a  scene,  where  a  child  is  the 
victim,  would  read  more  like  a  mocking  nightmare  than  a 
dread  fact.  Fancy  could  hardly  conceive  the  singular  eccen- 
tricities of  brutalized  human  nature.  The  maternal  instinct 
of  motherhood  has  been  annihilated  till  nothing  is  left  but  a 
I  wretched  monstrosity.      The   strong  arm  which  should  be 

used  for  fatherly  i)rotection  has  rained  cruel  blows  upon  the 
dying  child.  That  a  man  should  become  a  vicious  monster 
does  not  alarm  us  with  such  surprise,  as  that  a  woman  should 
become  a  frenzied  demon.  There  is  at  least  a  grain  of 
j.  comfort  in  the  reflection  that  not  alwaj's  are  both  parents 

l[  cruelly  disposed.     When  soberness  and  humanity  are  left  to 


UNNATURAL  PARENTS.  77 

one  of  them,  the  children  may  partially  escape.     I  quote  the 
following  by  way  of  illustration :  — 

At  the  lamp-post  in  Leather  Lane,  the  individual  in  charge 
of  the  sorry  array  of  patched-up  boots,  and  superintending 
the  sale  thereof,  was  a  female  so  diminutive  in  size  that  her 
tousled  old  hat  —  which  was  suggestive  of  a  last  year's  nest 
in  which  a  bird  of  gay  plumage  had  moulted  —  was  no  higher 
than  that  part  of  the  lamp-post  where  the  slender  part  joins 
the  base.  She  could  not  have  been  older  than  ten  or  eleven 
years,  but  her  worldly  knowledge,  in  the  old  boot~and-shoe 
line  of  business,  at  all  events,  was  equal  to  that  of  a  middle- 
aged  matron.  At  the  moment  when  my  attention  was 
attracted  towards  her  she  was  endeavoring  to  do  a  stroke 
of  trade  with  a  man  six  feet  high,  who  had  brought  out  his 
little  boy  to  buy  him  a  pair  of  secondhand  shoes. 

The  giant  in  ankle-jacks  was  no  more  a  match  for  the 
shrewd  little  street-marketwoman  than  his  infant  progeny 
would  have  been.  The  shoes  were  tried  on,  and  at  once  pro- 
nounced to  be  about  "five  sizes  too  larg^e."  She  was 
instantly  ready  for  him  with  a  brief  anecdote  of  a  child  of 
her  acquaintance  who  was  crippled  for  life  in  consequence 
of  wearing  shoes  in  which  there  was  not  free  play  for  its  toes, 
and,  whipping  out  one  of  the  curl-papers  from  her  hair,  she 
tore  it  in  two,  and,  stuffing  a  portion  into  each  little  boot, 
tried  them  on  again,  and  declared  that  "  now  they  fit  lovely." 
She  laughed  to  scorn  the  fellow's  offer  of  eighteen  cents  for 
them  and,  with  a  perfectly  serious  countenance,  assured  him 
that  if  it  were  not  Sunday,  and  the  pawnshops  were  open,  she 
could  get  thirty  cents  on  those  shoes  for  the  asking,  at  the 
same  time  explaining  that  the  whole  and  sole  reason  why  she 
had  offered  them  to  him  for  this  low  price  was,  in  the  first 
place,  because  she  had  not  taken  a  "  single  red "  all  the 
morning,  and  in  the  next  because  in  a  minute  or  two  she 


78  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEli  SXIPES. 

would  be  turned  away  bj  the  police,  and  this  was  her  last 
chance  of  selling.  On  this  the  good-natured  rough  relented, 
and  paid  down  the  cash. 

The  transaction  was  scarcely  completed  when  there  emerged 
from  an  adjacent  narrow  alley  a  wretched-looking  old  man, 
with  rags  of  slippers  on  his  feet,  and  a  tattered  leather  apron 
that  charitably  concealed  the  deficiencies  of  his  nether 
raiment,  barerarmed,  and  with  hands  so  gnarled  and  knotted, 
and  blunt  and  black  at  the  finger-nails,  that  they  scarcely 
looked  human.  Desj^ite  these  various  di-awbacks  to  a  pre- 
possessing appearance,  however,  and  the  additional  one  of 
Ids  wearing  a  pair  of  wide-rimmed  horn  spectacles  that 
exaggerated  the  blearedness  of  his  eyes,  it  was  plain  at 
a  glance  that  he  was  either  the  father  or  the  grandfather 
of  the  shrewd  little  shoe-seller,  and  I  was  not  surprised  when 
I  heard  Idm  address  her. 

'••  I  thought  1  "d  just  come  and  give  you  a  hand  to  carry  'em 
in,  Kitty,"  said  he.  '' It  *s  very  nigh  twelve  o'clock,  my  dear, 
and  we  don't  want  'em  all  kicked  into  the  mud  by  the  perlice, 
like  they  was  last  Sunday;  do  we,  Kitty?" 

"All  right,  father,"  said  she;  "y(m  take  'em  in,  and  I'll 
trot  up  the  lane  and  get  a  bit  o'  something  for  dinner." 

"  Do,  gal ;  and,  Kitty,  bring  a  bit  extry,  because  I  tliinks 
it  very  likely  your  grantlfather  may  drop  in  and  pick  a  bit 
with  us  to-day,"  returned  the  old  cobbler,  whose  voice  and 
manner  in  speaking  to  the  child  were  an  amazing  contrast  to 
his  rough  and  uncouth  aspect. 

"  That  '11  be  all  accordin'  to  what  mother  '11  be  up  to,  won't 
it  ?  "  the  girl  remarked,  as  though  she  had  some  doubt  of  the 
wisdom  of  his  last  proposition. 

"No  fear  of  lier,"  replied  the  cobbler;  "she'll  wake  up  as 
dry  as  a  clinker  as  soon  as  the  houses  are  open,  and  we  sha'n  t 
see  anymore  of  her  till  three  o'clock." 

Any  one,  I  suppose,  is  at  libert}-  to  call  on  a  cobbler  to 


UNNATUEAL  PABENTS.  79 

consult  him  on  the  subject,  of  shoemaking  or  mending ;  and, 
having  observed  the  house  into  which  the  old  fellow  carried 
his  leather  apron  full  of  the  unsold  stock  gathered  up  from 
the  lamp-post,  there  were  no  difficulties  in  my  way.  When 
I  say  that  I  saw  him  enter  the  house  with  his  burden,  it  is 
scarcely  correct,  for  he  seemed  to  shoot  it  into  a  cellar  in 
front  of  his  abode,  and  then  he  vanished  in  at  the  street-door. 
I  experienced  no  difficulty  in  finding  him,  however,  when 
a  few  minutes  later  I  walked  up  the  narrow  alley  and  looked 
down  into  the  cellar  or  kitchen  ;  there,  by  the  light  of  a  tal- 
low-candle —  though  it  was  noon  and  broad  daylight  in  more 
favored  places  —  I  saw  him  seated  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of 
all  manner  of  boots  and  shoes,  most  of  them  seemingly  in  the 
last  stage  of  dilapidation,  and  all  of  them  mouldy  and  mil- 
dewed, tugging  away  at  his  wax-ends  as  though  his  life 
depended  on  his  turning  out  the  job  in  hand  within  a  limited 
time.  He  looked  up  as  my  shadow  darkened  the  open  win- 
dow, and,  having  hinted  my  business  to  him,  he  made  answer 
that  he  would  come  up  and  speak  with  me  about  it.  But 
I  ju'eferred  to  go  down  to  him,  and,  he  making  no  objection, 
I  made  my  way  through  the  house-passage  and  down  the 
kitchen-stairs,  and  there  joined  him. 

Soon,  however,  as  I  put  my  head  in  at  the  door  I  made  a 
hasty  step  back,  for  there,  dimly  revealed  by  the  feeble  light 
of  the  tallow-candle,  stretched  out  straight  on  a  bed  of 
decaying  old  soles  and  upper  leather  in  a  corner,  with  a 
crushed  fish-ljasket  for  a  pillow,  was  what  looked  like  a  dead 
Avoman.  The  old  fellow  saw  in  an  instant  why  I  hesitated, 
and  ol)served  in  an  off-hand  manner  :  — 

"O,  don't  mind  her.  She's  only  sleeping  it  offi  She  got  a 
sly  glass  or  two  among  the  neighbors,  cuss  'em  !  this  morning ; 
not  that  but  Sunday  and  weekday  is  pretty  much  the  same 
to  her,  wus  luck  for  me." 

It  was,  of  course,  not  for  me  to  mind,  since  he  did  not,  and 


80  STREET  AEABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

after  I  had  justified  my  calling  on  him  we  talked  of  matters 
generally,  and  of  his  occupation  in  particular.  He  informed 
me  that,  with  Kitty's  assistance  he  did  pretty  well  as  a 
"  translator "  (i.e.  a  conjuror  of  wearable  boots  out  of  those 
that  are  utterly  worn-out  and  seemingly  worthless).  Yes, 
this  was  the  material  he  worked  on  (the  mildewed  mounds 
by  which  his  seat  was  surrounded).  "-All-sorts"  it  was 
called  in  the  trade,  —  men's,  women's,  children's,  odds  and 
ends  —  anything,  —  and  he  could  always  buy  as  much  as  he 
wanted  of  it  at  the  rate  of  two  shillings  a  bushel.  They 
were  not  always  "  pairs  "  that  he  made  up,  but  he  matched 
them  as  close  as  he  could,  and  the  Leather-laners  were  not 
overnice  about  such  matters.  His  daughter  Kitty  was  his 
right  hand.  She  generally  managed  to  sell  as  fast  as  he 
could  '  translate,'  and  by  pinching  himself  of  sleep,  getting 
to  bed  at  twelve,  being  up  and  at  it  again  at  six,  Sunday 
and  weekdays,  he  could  earn  as  much  as  niMe  or  ten  dollars 
a  week. 

"  I  should  have  supposed,"  I  remarked,  "  that,  earning  as 
much  as  that,  you  could  aiford  to  live  in  a  more  comfortable 
place." 

"  O,  it's  comfortable  enough  if  it  comes  to  that,"  glancing 
contentedly  aroimd  the  wretched  kitchen  ;  "  you  see,  it 's  so 
roomy.  Where  else  should  I  get  a  single  room  big  enough 
to  live  in,  and  slee[)  in,  and  work  in  as  well,  especially 
considering  the  (quantity  of  rul)l)isli  I  'm  obliged  to  have 
always  nigh  me?  Looks  rather  damj)!  Well,  it  might  be  drier. 
But  the  rats  is  the  worst  of  it ;  I  can't  keep  anything  from  'em. 
They  gnaw  the  old  boots  and  shoes  and  lick  up  the  blacking, 
and  when  I  go  to  bed  there's  a  fight  among  'em  for  the 
candle-end.  At  the  same  time,  I  don't  think  I  could  better 
myself  in  this  neighborhood,  and  one  dollar  a  week  isn't 
overmuch  for  it.  We  could  do  very  well,  sir,  if  it  wasn't 
for  her."     And   he  lowered  liis  voice  as  he  pointed  to  the 


UNNATUltAL  PARENTS.  81 

slatternly  wretch  who,  with  her  hair  in  discn'der,  lay  with  her 
face  on  the  fish-basket. 

"  That 's  her  cuss  and  mine  too,"  and  he  signified  a  drinking 
measure  with  his  waxy  fist,  and  tossed  off  a  dram  at  one  gulp. 
"  If  there 's  a  dollar  earned  I  '11  wager  she  melts  half  of  it  in 
drink.  She  will  have  it,  sir,  or  '"  — and  he  finished  the  sen- 
tence with  a  horrible  grimace,  and  clawing  the  air  with  out- 
spread two  hands.  "  That 's  her,  sir.  And  then  poor  Kitty 
she  drops  in  for  it,  and  then  I  have  a  say,  and  then  /drop 
in  for  it,  and  old  boots  and  shoes  ain't  the  lightest  of 
weapons  to  have  shied  at  you.  It's  no  use  me  trying  to 
stand  up  against  her.  She 's  as  strong  as  a  horse,  and  as  free 
with  her  fists  as  with  her  tongue  when  she 's  in  her  tantrums. 
Does  she  do  any  work  ?  Now  and  then  she  goes  out  and  does 
a  bit  of  washing  or  a  few  chores  but  it  all  goes  in  rum.  How 
long  has  she  been  at  it  ?  Blest  if  I  can  tell  you.  A  good 
many  years,  though.  Ever  since  1  've  lived  here,  and  that 's 
seven  years." 

"  But  is  there  no  way  of  securing  your  hard  earnings  from 
such  ruinous  waste  ? "  The  })oor  little  cobbler  shook  his 
liead. 

"  Her  way  of  doing  it,  you  see,  sir,  is  to  wait  on  the  gal. 
The  bar-room  she  uses  is  just  close  at  hand  to  Kitty's  post, 
and  she  keeps  watch  at  the  winder,  and  as  soon  as  there  is  a 
pair  sold  she  's  down  on  the  dimes  before  the  poor  child  can 
pocket  'em.     Why,  many  a  time  I  've  "  — 

But  at  this  point  a  sudden  rustling  of  the  fish-basket  ]nllow 
on  which  the  wretched  woman's  head  reposed  announced 
that  she  was  waking  up,  and  her  husband  began  pegging 
away  at  a  boot,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  significant  wink, 
bidding  me  good  morning.  And  at  the  same  moment  the 
bony-fisted  virago  scramliled  to  her  feet,  and,  staggering 
towards  the  cobbler,  threateningly  demanded  money  of  him. 
I  thought  it  as  well  to  take  his  hint  in  good  time  and  so  I  l^ft. 


82 


STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 


Another  case  iu  ])()iiit :  A  Relieving  Ofticer  deposed  that, 
having  received  an  anonynions  letter  calling  attention  to  the 
condition  of  a  family  he  went  there  the  next  day,  where  he 
found  four    children,  the    eldest  a  boy,  the  others  girls,  in 


a  small  back-room  on  the  tirst  tlot)r.  Their  ages  were  ten, 
seven,  five,  and  two.  After  knocking  for  some  minutes 
at  the  room-door,  the  children  unlocked  it  and  let  him  in. 
Two  or  three  of  the  children  had  no  clothing  on,  and  were 
lying  huddled  up  in  the  scanty  bedclothes;  there  was  no 
one  with  them:  tlie\   had  locked  themselves  in.     When  the 


UNNATURAL  PARE  NTS.  6o 

officer  entered  the  room,  the  eldest  chikl  began  to  cry,  and 
seemed  frightened.  He  was  told  by  neighbors  that,  since  the 
parents  had  come  to  live  there,  the  children  had  not  once  been 
out  of  the  room.  They  appeared  to  be  in  such  a  neglected 
condition,  so  emaciated  from  starvation,  that  he  had  to 
remove  them  to  the  poorhouse  in  a  cab.  In  the  evening 
the  wretched  mother  called  upon  him.  She  was  the  worse 
for  liquor.  That  the  woman  was  sentenced  to  three  months' 
imprisonment  was  probably  in  its  way  a  sufficient  punish- 
ment, but  what  about  the  poor  children  —  what  is  to  become 
of  them  ?  They  are  but  typical  of  many  who,  although  they 
have  the  shelter  of  a  room,  are  hidden  away  in  squalid 
lodgings  luicared  for,  without  clothing,  and  unable  to  go 
out  until  they  arrive  at  that  age  when,  if  they  survive  the 
trials  and  sufferings  of  the  first  few  years,  they  become  too 
old  to  be  restrained,  and  rush  out  upon  the  streets,  where 
they  find  liberty  and  at  least  pick  up  a  crust;  where  also 
they  learn  the  secrets  of  a  vicious  life  which  many  end  in 
a  criminal's  death. 

What  think  you  of  the  mother  whose  healthy  child  was 
reduced  to  seventy  ounces  in  weight  through  the  starvation 
process?  "  For  the  past  month,"  according  to  the  newspaper 
account,  the  prisoner  had  "systematically  neglected  the 
deceased  by  leaving  her  in  a  box  of  rags  half  a  day  at  a  time 
in  a  room  where  there  was  no  fire,  and  also  by  refusing  to 
allow  food  to  be  given  to  her."  Comment  is  needless. 
Whitefield  used  to  maintain  that  unregenerated  human 
nature  was  half  beast  and  half  devil;  and  had  he  needed 
illustrations  to  confirm  his  startling  proposition,  he  might 
have  found  them  in  our  modern  police-courts. 

There  are  various  ways  of  children  being  starved  to  death. 
A  woman  was  charged  with  causing  the  death  of  a  boy  aged 
eight  months,  an  infant  she  had  taken  in  to  nurse.  At  the 
post-mortem  examination  "  not  a  particle  of  food  was  found. 


84  SriiEKT  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

the  child  liuviug  died  literally  from  starvation."  Notwith- 
staudiug  the  absence  of  disease,  the  body  weighed  only 
seven  pounds  and  two  ounces. 

At  Sheffield,  a  steel  merchant,  who  had  from  some  unstated 
cause  become  "somewhat  singular  in  his  manner,*'  which 
obliged  him  to  remain  at  home  from  work,  murdered  his 
infant.  Rising  from  his  bed  at  evening,  he  went  downstairs, 
"  and,  in  the  absence  of  his  wife,  took  his  baby  from  the 
cradle  and  dashed  its  brains  out  on  a  dresser.'' 

I  think  the  reader  will  be  fully  convinced  that  shocking- 
deeds  are  beuig  enacted  in  our  day  after  getting  through 
the  subjoined  list  of  selected  cases :  — 

A  woman  falls  into  the  canal  with  a  child  five  months 
old  in  her  arras,  and  the  infant  is  drowned.  One  witness 
at  the  coroner's  court  believed  "the  mother  was  under  the 
influence  of  drink  at  the  time,"  wliile  the  coroner  remarked 
that  the  life  of  the  child  had  l)een  sacrificed  to  the  mother's 
folly. 

A  married  woman  who  drowned  herself  Avas  found  in  the 
water  with  her  youngest  child,  a  girl  under  three  years  of 
age,  tied  to  her  waist. 

A  soldier  who  had  been  discharged  from  his  regiment 
was  charo-ed  with  the  murder  of  his  dauo-hter,  an  infant  a 
month  old.  The  cowardly  ruffian  came  liome,  and  after 
beating  first  his  wife,  and  then  the  woman's  father,  "seized 
his  infant  daughter,  swung  her  round  his  head,  and  daslied 
her  against  a  hen-house,"  soon  after  which  the  child  died. 

Harrowing  would  be  tlie  stories  we  might  tell  about  stc})- 
uKttliers  —  jealous,  ignorant,  cat-like  women,  to  whom  the 
offspring  of  former  wives  were  helpless  victims  on  whcnn 
all  kinds  of  cruelty  might  be  practised.  An  inquest  was 
held  on  the  body  of  a  l)oy  eleven  years  of  age,  whose 
emaciated  condition,  even  as  he  lay  in  his  coffin,  was  noticed 
by  the  coroner  and  the  jury.     One  of   tlie  jurymen  and  a 


THE    HOMELESS. 


UNNATURAL  PARENTS. 


87 


female  witness  very  succinctly  stated  the  facts  of  the  case. 

The  former   said :    ''  All   my   children,   and   others   as  well, 

know  that  the  boy  never  had  sufficient  food,  and  if  any  one 

gave  him  anything  to  eat  he  Avas  flogged  for  taking  it." 

The  other  witness,  who  had  known  the 

child  for  nine  years,  added  :  "When  his 

mother  was  alive  lie  was  well  treated, 

but  since  his  father  had  married  again 

he  was  quite  neglected.     He  was  half 

starved.     I  have  seen  bruises  and  other 

marks    of    ill-usage    upon    him."      Of 

course  the  coroner  lectured  the  vixen 

on  her  "cruel  and  inhuman  conduct," 

but  unhappily  could    award   no   more 

fitting  punishment. 

This  of  a  laboring  man:  "The 
prisoner,  .his  wife,  and  the  deceased 
child  were  left  in  the  room  about  eight 
o'clock,  and  on  the  brother  of  the  pris- 
oner going  into  the  room  at  half-past 
nine  o'clock  the  prisoner  was  found 
lying  upon   the   floor    asleep,  and   the 

child  was  also  on  the  floo;^  quite  dead,  but  still  warm.  A 
medical  examination  disclosed  the  fact  that  the  unhappy  child 
had  received  most  terrible  injuries :  the  skull, was  fractured 
in  several  ]^)laces,  one  of  the  arms  was  broken,  there  were 
a  number  of  contused  wounds  in  all  parts  of  the  body,  and 
other  mortal  injuries,  which  in  the  opinion  of  the  medical 
men  had  been  occasioned  either  l)y  heavy  blows  Avith  the 
fist  or  kicks  from  a  boot." 


A  visit  to  a  family  of  gutter  snipes  iS  thus  described : 
Abominable  filth  made  the  room  almost  unenteral)le ;  and 
lying  in  a  corner  on  some  rags  was  a  blear-eyed,  half-dressed 


88  STllEET  AUABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

niiiii  under  the  inllueiice  of  drink,  and,  although  now  but  the 
hour  of  noon,  quite  incapable  of  coherency. 

Wlio  is  he  '-^  do  you  ask  ;  and  why  sIkjuM  avc  care  for  him? 
A  httti    liom  a  Chiistian  AAoikmg-man  was  received  some 

isit  the  house,  in  which  a  con- 
nection of  his  lived,  and   im- 
oring    us    to    rescue,   if   pos- 
,  sd)le,  some  of  the  children  from 
the  fate  to  which  their  father's 

I  confirmed  vice  exposed  them. 

I I  here  were  Jive  children  in  the 
I  loom,  one  a  baby  girl  of  eleven 
I  months.  The  others  were  a 
I  little    girl    of    five    years,  and 

thiee    boys   of    fourteen,  ten, 
^and    eight    respectively.     The 

children  and  their  father  occu- 
pied a  small  back-room  in  Princess  Row.  They  were  in 
a  deplorable  condition,  in  fact  almost  naked ;  the  mite  of 
a  five-year-old  girl  playing  the  nurse  to  the  miserable  baby, 
whose  mother  had  died  ten  months  before.  A  few  bits  of 
bread  Avere  in  the  room,  and  on  the  fire  was  a  broken  pot 
containing  some  potatoes.  Tlie  man,  a  native  of  Ireland, 
appeared  half  stupid;  and  Avas,  we  heard,  continually  in 
liquor.  Wliere  he  got  the  needful  money  was  a  mystery; 
but  somehow  or  other  he  did  get  it,  and,  oblivious  of  the 
claims  of  his  luifortunate  offs})riug,  spent  all  he  could  secure 
in  the  poison  which  was  already  working  his  death. 

The  ])al)y  was  cpiite  naked.  Since  it  Avas  born  it  ncA'cr  had 
a  o'arment  on,  exce])t  tlie  old  rno-  in  Avhich  at  night  it  Avas 
l)undled.  They  were  all  coAered  Avith  A'erniin  and  sores. 
Three  of  the  youngest  Avere  in  the  Avorst  possil)le  state  of 
filthiness.     The    baby's   face   Avas    like    that   of    a    little  old 


UXXATUBAL  PARENTS.  89 

woman.  It  would  sit  (ni  the  groiiiul  and  luuiioh  with  its 
tender  gums  at  a  hard  crust  or  suck  at  a  })iece  of  caudle  : 
aud  it  was  no  easy  matter,  after  their  rescue,  to  accustom  any 
of  the  children  to  decent  ways. 

Bacchus  is  as  cruel  as  jNIoloeh,  and  nuiltitudes  of  children 
are  yearly  sacrificed  at  his  shrine.  The  law  is  powerless,  or 
faitldessly  executed,  hence  much  devolves  on  Christian 
philanthropists  whose  earnest  efforts  on  behalf  of  unfortunate 
youth  have  been  already  signally  successful. 

The  ravages  of  drunkenness  have  frequently  been  dis- 
cussed, yet  its  relation  to  the  children  of  the  intemjjerate 
needs  to  be  more  fully  ventilated.  By  it  ""Arabs"  are 
multiplied,  and  "'  waifs "  are  on  the  increase.  There  are, 
however,  lower  depths  of  depravity  into  which  helpless 
childhood  is  dragged  —  wliirlpools  set  in  motion  l)y  degraded 
2)arents,  into  whose  awful  vortex  they  are  irresistibly  drawn. 
Think  of  fathers  and  mothers  inciting  their  children  to  steal; 
they  themselves  the  receivers  of  the  ill-gotten  gains.  At  a 
police-court,  a  child  of  nine  years  of  age  was  charged,  with 
another  a  little  older,  with  having  stripped  houses  in  that 
neigliborhood  of  an  incredible  quantity  of  lead  and  taps. 
01)tainiiig  scent  of  a  certain  house,  the  detectives  there  found 
the  property.  "•  I  'm  the  gov'nor,"  said  the  father,  who,  with 
his  wife,  had  tutored  the  young  creatures  to  commit  their 
depredations.  We  trust  that  the  law  will  take  cognizance 
of  a  "gov'n(n''s  ""  reSMonsihility. 

I  have  felt  it  my  dut}'  to  call  attention  to  these  terril)le 
revelations.  We  pi-e[)are  for  the  dreaded  |)estilence  when 
warned  by  its  approach,  and  if  moral  evils  are  averted  we 
must  become  aware  of  their  existence.  It  is,  therefore,  no 
idle  whim  M'hicli  governs  my  present  purpose.  In  laying 
bare  the  fact  that  unnatural  parents  are  driving  their 
children  to  the  streets,  who  become  parasites  on  the  l)ody 
politic,  and  out  of  whom  grow  gamblers,  thieves,  .l)urglars. 


90 


STBEET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SXIPES. 


and  i)au})ei's,  to  impoverish  and  degrade  our  country,  I  am 
only   adding    my  (j^uota  of    help    in    the  direction   of    civil 


=^==:#asia/^ 


reform  and  national  purity.  To  save  tliese  children  should 
be  the  aim  of  all,  and  a  wise  legislation  Avhich  successfully 
accomplishes  this  end  will  minimize  crime  and  limit  cruelty. 
The  prison  and  the  gallows  fail  to  do  either. 


UNNATURAL  PAHEXTS.  01 

Turning  away  from  these  sickening  details,  it  is  gratifying 
to  meet  with  a  decided  contrast.  It  is  our  profound  convic- 
tion that  many  royal  people  are  found  among  the  lowly. 
Shining  like  imperishable  diamonds  amid  the  surrounding 
darkness,  they  enrich  the  world  by  being  in  it.  Preserving 
their  saltness,  they  hinder  the  spread  of  corru})tion  around 
them,  and  sweeten  the  moral  wastes  by  the  perflime  of  their 
Christlike  sanctity.  They  bring  up  their  children  in  the  fear 
of  the  Loi'd  and  are  among  the  most  iinportant  citizens  of 
the  Commonwealth.  In  his  search  for  "Arabs"  Doctor 
Barnardo  found  one  of  these  queenly  daughters  in  disguise  ; 
black  as  the  tents  of  Kedar,  yet  comely  as  the  curtains  of 
Solomon.     This  is  his  narrative:  — 

We  passed  down  the  main  street,  then  turned  to  the  left, 
walked  through  the  narrow  passage  for  about  forty  paces, 
turned  again  to  the  left,  and  tlien  entered  a  small  court. 
There  are  not  many  houses  in  it:  the  one  we  seek  is  at  the 
farther  end.  There  is  no  hall-door,  and  the  crazy  stairs  are 
exposed  to  view  from  outside.  Up  we  go,  disturbing  in  our 
passage  several  groups  of  children,  who,  in  the  dim  light 
which  enters  through  the  narrow  casements  of  each  landing, 
are  playing  noisy  games.  They  stoj)  to  gaze  in  wonder  is 
we  ascend.  It  is  a  high  house  for  so  narrow  a  court,  and 
was  once  inhabited  by  people  of  better  quality  ;  now  it  is  but 
a  tumble-down  affair.  The  balustrades  are  nearly  all  gone. 
( )ne  here  and  tliere  suffices  to  afford  the  railing  an  insecure 
support.  Tlie  rats  ■have  appropiiated  not  a  little  of  the 
staircase  ;  huo-e  holes  leading"  to  their  burrows  sugg'est  to  the 
unaccustomed  traveler  the  necessity  for  carefulness :  but 
due  caution  being  exercised,  \\q  get  to  the  garret  ''  top 
back,"  as  we  were  told  when  below.  There  is  no  need  to 
knock,  for  the  door  of  the  back-room  on  the  upper  floor 
is  partly  open. 


92  STliEKT  AliABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

'•  Step  ill,  sar,"  cries  a  voice,  as  our  foot-tread  is  heard  by 
the  inmate  of  the  room.  Juside,  a  woman  is  seen  sitting 
near  the  small  window,  trying  by  the  fading  light  to  com- 
plete her  task.  No  furnitnre  of  any  kind  can  be  seen  —  not 
even  a  chair,  nor  an  apology  for  a  bed.  The  weary  worker 
speaks,  but  without  raising  her  head,  or  leaving  off  her  work 
for  a  nioinent.  She  sits  on  an  old  broken  box,  turned 
bottom  ujtwards  to  serve  as  a  seat.  The  room  is  very  dirty, 
dark,  and  close-smelling.  We  attempted  to  open  the  win- 
dow, but  it  was  lixed,  and  would  not  open.  The  occupant 
of  the  tenement  goes  on  with  her  work,  "stitch,  stitch, 
stitch,"  at  it,  and  always  at  it.  She  is  not  even  curious 
enough,  or  has  not  time  to  spare,  to  ask  oul'  business, 
although  she  must  wonder  why  we  have  come.  She  is 
a  colored  woman  and  is  dressed  in  the  poorest  rags.  Her 
face  is  that  of  a  sufferer,  and  her  voice,  Avhen  she  speaks,  has 
unutterable  weariness  in  its  tone. 

Is  she  alone  ?  We  thought  she  was  at  first,  but  the  land- 
lady came  up,  and  is  now  standing  behind,  and  she  points  to 
the  corner  under  the  slanting  roof,  and  saj's,  in  a  hushed 
voice,  '"  That  "s  where  they  are." 

Some  sacks  are  indeed  there,  in  the  centre  of  which  a 
bigger  mass  protrudes  ;  but  all  only  appears  to  be  a  heap  of 
other  sacks  fresh  from  the  hand  of  the  woman  who  sits 
before  us,  still  at  work,  and  always  at  it  —  stitch,  stitch, 
stitch  !  But  our  inquiry  attracts  her ;  she  has  raised  her 
head;  she  is  interested,  and  looks  keenly  at  us.  A  quick 
glance  it  is,  and  we  can  see  the  moisture  which  has  gathered 
in  either  eye. 

*'•  Eh,  sar,"  she  says,  "-mebbe  you  '11  help  the  childer  !  My 
heart 's  most  hruck  !  de  good  Lord  forgive  me  !  " 

Big  tears  coursed  down  each  swarthy  cheek. 

Greatly  moved,  we  turned  to  the  corner  and  pulled  aside  a 
sack,  revealing  three  woolly  black  heads.     Yes,  sure  enough. 


.     UNNATURAL  PARENTS.  93 

there  three  little  black  children  la}'.  In  a  few  minutes  they 
were  awake,  and,  to  our  surprise,  instead  of  springing  out 
with  the  usual  vivacity  of  children,  from  the  heap  of  sacks, 
they  remained  quite  still,  looking  quiet  and  abashed. 

"She  hain't  no  clothes  for  'em  this  while  back,"  explained 
the  landlady,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  so  they  keeps  together  under 
the  sacks  to  get  warm,  till  the  mother  takes  her  work  oif  to 
the  factory.  When  she  comes  back  they've  a  new  lot  of 
sacks;  but 't  ain't  much  they  'd  have  to  eat  if  it  Avarn't  for  tlie 
neighbors  who  pities  'em,  and  gives  'em  a  bit  of  broken 
wittles  now  and  then.  But  tlie  neighbors  'bout  here  are  only 
poor  theirselves,  God  help  'em  ! '' 

"Do  you  mean  that  tliese  clnldren  haA'e  really  no  clothing 
at  all,  and  always  lie  in  tliese  sacks  ?  " 

"Never  a  rag  among  the  lot  of  'em,"  responded  the  land- 
lady. 

Gently  and  kindly  we  conversed  with  the  mother  of  tlie 
poor  children,  who  had  resumed  her  sewing,  and  dre^\'  out 
from  her,  in  broken  snatches,  fragments  of  her  history,  which 
is  as  follows:  Her  liusband  was  a  sailor,  tall  and  powerfully 
built.  When  near  one  of  the  West  India  Islands,  a  com- 
panion had  fallen  overboard,  and  was  in  danger  of  being- 
devoured  by  a  shark.  The  woman's  husband,  always  remark- 
able for  his  courage  and  bravery,  jumped  without  hesitation 
over  the  ship's  side,  and  rescued  the  drowning  man,  but  lost 
his  own  life.  The  widow  heard  the  sad  tidings  on  the  ship's 
return.  Her  heart  must  have  been  broken  if  she  had  not  had 
the  consolation  of  tJie  Christ layi  s  faith  and  hojie.  Phishrined 
beneath  the  dark  and  swarthy  skin  which  proclaimed  her 
race  was  the  briglit  jewel  of  a  soul  that  had  been  cleansed  in 
the  Kedeemer's  blood.  Sickness  came,  poverty,  then  sick- 
ness again,  followed  by  the  birth  of  her  posthumous  child, 
a  little  boy,  now  five  years  old,  the  youngest  of  the  three 
children  who  lay  between  the  sacks. 


94 


STUEET  AHABS  AND  U UTTEll  SXIPES. 


She  might  have  gone  to  service;  hut  wliat  of  her  children? 
The  eldest  child,  a  girl,  was  twelve  years.  The  mother's 
great  struggle  had  always  heeu  to  keep  tliem  from  the  streets. 
"  Any  way  and  any  how,"  she  said  to  us  with  streaming  eyes. 


"away  from  sin  and  wickedness  !  "  True  they  had  no  clothes, 
and  were  almost  starved,  for  slie  received  only  jivr  cents 
a  sack  for  her  work. 

"But   tlicv    know'd    siunmat    'bout    de    Lord    Jesus:   and 
I  wants   "cm   .sore   to   bifi  liim." 


UXXATUllAL  PAllENTS.  95 

"  I  liave  a  Home  fur  such ;  I  will  take  them.  Will  3011 
give  them  up  to  my  care  ?  "  was  the  substance  of  a  parley. 

Her  eyes  glistened.  "  I  would  like  to  let  'em  go,  but "  — 
A  voice  from  the  corner  cried,  '•'•  Mudder,  let 's  go  !  Plenty 
food,  nice  warm  tings.     Let 's  go,  mudder  !  " 

That  was  conclusive,  and  they  caine ;  or  rather  we  took 
them,  wrapped  up  by  the  kindly  hands  of  the  landlady  and 
their  own  mother  in  some  of  the  sacks  with  which  they  had 
been  invested.  Oft"  the  next  morning  we  carried  them  in 
a  cab,  and  in  the  studio  of  t)ur  photographer  laid  them  and 
their  sacks  in  a  heap,  as  they  had  been  the  day  before  in  their 
mother's  dingy  attic ;  and  thus  [)reserved  a  picture  of  the 
state  in  which  we  f(tund  them.  Then,  away  again  to  the 
Girls'  Home  in  a  cab.  How  glad  they  were  for  the  delightful 
luxury  of  a  warm  bath  and  clean  clothing!  Some  soup,  too, 
worked  wonders  ;  after  which,  with  their  braided  hair  fastened 
demurely  by  a  little  scarlet  band,  there  stood  before  the  writer 
two  twinkling-eyed  congenitors  of  the  world-renowned  ''Miss 
Feely's  "  Topsy ! 

Work  for  the  mother,  of  a  better  character,  less  arduous 
and  more  remunerative,  was  soon  obtained,  and  thus  the  wife 
and  children  of  one  Avho  had  lost  his  life  in  saving  a  fellow- 
creature's  were  themselves  rescued  from  a  worse  fate  than 
that  which  had  befallen  their  devoted  husband  and  father. 
'*  Leave  thy  fatherless  children,  I  w'xW  preserve  them  alive ; 
and  let  thy  widows  trust  in  Me.'' 

'•Througli  niglit  to  light — in  every  stage. 
From  cliihlhood's  morn  to  lioary  age. 
What  shall  illume  the  pilgrimage 
By  mortals  trod  ? 

"  There  is  a  pure  and  heavenly  ray, 
That  brightest  shines  in  darkest  day, 
When  eai-thly  beams  are  quenched  for  aye  ; 
"Tis  lit  bv  God." 


CHAPTER   V. 

SHIRKERS    AND    HEROES. 

Temporary  Employment  Provideit.  —  Plan  of  Operations.  — A  Pair  of  Shirkers.— 
" Charley,  I 'm  Open  to  be  Converted." —  Like  the  Wriggle  of  a  Homeless  Dog.— 
"  Sleepin'  on  a  Hempty  Stoniacli."  —  Objections  to  Work.  — ■■  Is  this  your  Bloomin' 
House  of  Labor  ?"  — Description  of  a  •■  Kough."  —  Heroes.  —  The  Crossing- 
Sweeper.  —  Squeaker  and  Poll.  —  Porkey's  Vicious  Trick.  —  "  I  'ni  the  Father,  She  's 
the  Mother."  —  Papers  and  Lights  by  Turns.  —  "  Poll  Earns  more  'n  I  do."  —  Clhar- 
ley's  Sudden  Alarm.  —  The  Reason  Why. 

nV /rUCH  good  has  been  accomplished  in  providing  tempo- 
rary  work  for  young  men  who  are  earnestly  endeavor- 
ing to  "'turn  over  a  new  leaf."  lu  many  cities  both  private 
benefactors  and  public  institutions  seek  to  encourage  this 
class,  and  have  provided  them  with  food  and  shelter  for 
a  certain  amount  of  wood-sawing  and  w^ood-splitting.  In 
deserving  cases  the  lads  are  rewarded  with  a  suit  of  clothes 
and  permanent  employment.  A  writer  thus  describes  his 
visit  to  one  of  these  wood-depots  and  what  occnrred  in  the 
neighborhood :  — 

The  right-minded  would  no  doubt  liud  these  various 
inducements  ample,  but  I  must  confess  when,  several  months 
since,  the  idea  in  its  i)resent  shape  was  confided  to  me,  my 
faith  in  it  was  of  the  faintest.  T  am  the  more  glad  to  make 
known  tliat,  as  far  as  the  means  at  the  dis])Osal  of  the 
gentleman  in  question  will  admit,  tlic  cxpcriiiuMit  has  proved 
an  un(h)ubted  success.  AVithin  the  past  four  months  thirty- 
two  of  these  youths,  rapidly  maturing  to  a<lult  ruffianism, 
have  been  received,  and  of  this  numbt-r  twenty-six  remain, 
manfully  earning  their  bread,  sweetened  by  the  sweat  of 
their  brow,  and  thriving  wonderfnlh'  on  the,  to  thein,  novel 
aliment.      Xor  does  one  need  to  be  a  })hysiognomist  Xo  tell  at 


SHIRKEBS  AND  HEEOES.  9T 

a  glance  that  exactly  the  sort  of  fish  angled  fur  have  bee-i 
secured.  I  recently  saw  them,  about  a  score  in  number, 
squatted  at  the  chopping-block,  and  cheerily  hard  at  it,  but 
most  of  them  with  ^hat  unfortunate  type  of  face  not  easily 
softened  or  improved  by  a  fit,  more  or  less  enduring,  of  moral 
resolution.  There  was  the  heavy  under-jaw,  the  eyes  deep 
sunk  in  their  sockets,  the  massive  chin,  the  large  outstanding 
ears  with  the  barren  space  behind.  Nevertheless,  and  by 
what  magic  their  taming  is  accomplished  I  cannot  say,  there 
they  were,  chopping  their  way  to  an  honest  and  creditable 
future  with  an  amount  of  energy  and  perseverance  that 
showed  unmistakably  how  thoroughly  their  minds  were  made 
up  about  the  matter.  I  tried  to  talk  with  two  or  three  of 
them,  but  they  were  evidently  averse  to  conversation  with 
strangers,  and  gave  me  answers  that  were  civil,  but  decidedly 
short.  The  prevailing  sentiment  among  them  was  one  that 
could  not  be  found  fault  with  —  they  had  entered  on  a 
contract  and,  though  they  were  perfectly  well  aware  of  the 
tough  work  they  were  engaged  on,  they  meant  to  stick  to  it 
for  the  sake  of  the  reward,  and,  that  being  so,  the  least  said 
about  it  meanwhile  the  better.  I  was  informed  that,  though 
some  of  them  grin  rather  ruefully  at  the  discipline  at  first, 
they  soon  learn  to  l)ear  with  it.  They  get  their  three  meals 
a  day,  plain  as  well  can  be,  but  unstinted,  and  each  worker 
has  a  clean  bed,  with  sheets  and  a  rug  to  cover  him,  of  a  very 
different  complexion  from  that  he  has  probably  been  used  to 
at  the  common  lodging-house.  There  are  two  hours  school 
in  the  evening,  with  a  comfortable  reading-room,  with  plenty 
of  lavatory  accommodation,  including  a  spacious  bath.  I 
don't  know  exactly  what  is  the  cost  in  each  case,  for  such  an 
establishment  can  scarcely  hope  to  be  self-supporting;  but 
whatever  it  may  be  must  be  regarded  as  merely  trifling 
as  compared  with  the  item  entered  to  the  credit  side  of  the 
ledger  —  one  rough  the  less. 


98 


STBEET  ARABS  AND  dUTTEB  SNIPES. 


It  is  not  surprising  that  it  occasionally  happens  that  the 
youthful  I'ouo-h  of  the  utterly  incorrigible  kind,  misled  by 
false  rumors  as  to  the  life  of  ease  and  luxury  to  be  secured 
by  the  exercise  of  a  little  artfulness,  makes  humble  applica- 


SHIRKERS. 


tion,  l)Ut  when  lie  hears  the  terms  turns  disgusted  away. 
Indeed,  such  an  instance  came  under  my  notice.  I  had 
descended  the  steps,  and  was  turning  away  from  the 
premises,  when  I  saw  at  a  fe\v  yards'  distance  a  couple  of 


8HIRKEBS  AND  HEROES.  99 

youths,  of  exactly  the  type  that  will  probably  prove  more 
troul)lesome  to  the  promoter  of  the  bold  experiment  than 
any  he  is  likely  to  be  called  on  to  deal  with.  They  were 
ajjparently  about  eighteen  years  old,  and  at  the  momen! 
when  J  beheld  them  one  was  ])ractising'  the  steps  of  a  dance 
he  was  presumably  at  present  not  quite  [)erfect  in.  His 
companion,  lounging  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  with  the 
peak  of  his  cap  tilted  jauntily  over  his  eyes  and  a  short  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  was  critically  contemplating  the  motions  of  the 
dancer's  feet.  The  instant  they  caught  sight  of  me, 
however,  the  dancing  Ceased,  and  after  a  rapid  whis2)ering 
together,  the  pair,  suddenly  assuming  the  demeanor  of  sober 
and  steady  lads  incapable  of  swerving  so  much  as  an  inch 
from  the  straight  path  of  integrity,  hurried  after  me.  When 
they  overtook  me,  however,  they  did  not  immediately 
address  me.  Walking  abreast  and  keeping  pace  with  me, 
they  continued  a  conversation,  s[)eaking  loud  enough  for  me 
to  overhear. 

''That's  where  1  "m  like  you,"  said  one.  ''I  didn't  have 
[)luck  enough  to  go  up  the  stei)S  and  knock,  for  fear  they 
might  think  Ave  Avas  only  making  gam^  or  somethink ;  which 
nothing  is  furder  from  my  thoughts.  Wot  do  you  say, 
BiU?"^ 

"*  I  say  that  tliem  wot 's  got  the  'ard-'artiness  to  make  game 
of  them  who's  money  out  o'  pocket  to  convert  us  from  our 
wicked  ways,  oiight  to  be  jolly  Avell  ashariied  of  themselves. 
That 's  what  I  say,  Charley.  I  tell-  you  fair  and  honest, 
Charley,  I'm  open  to  be  converted  if  any  kind  gen'l'man 
would  set  about  it ! "  And  then  they  feigned  to  be  made 
suddenly  aware  that  they  were  Avalking  Avithin  six  feet  of 
me.     They  started  and  fell  back  apace. 

''It  is  him,  I  tell  you,"  said  Bill,  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"  Wot,  him  that  Ave  see  come  out  just  now  ?  Well,  he 
looks  a  Idnd-'arted  sort.       Blest  if  I  don't  sj^eak  to    him." 


loo  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

And  next  moment  the  last  speaker,  with  a  smile  of  childlike 
confidence,  and  with  a  twist  of  his  body  comparable  to 
nothing  but  the  Avriggle  with  which  a  homeless  dog- 
beseeches  the  compassion  of  any  one  who  casts  pitying  eyes 
on  him,  remarked :  — 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir;  but  might  you  be  one  of  the  head 
uns  at  the  Labor-House,  wot  us  saw  you  come  out  of  just 
now?" 

'•  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Coz  if  you  was,  if  you  would  n't  mind  the  liberty  of  us 
arstin',  we  thought  as  how  you  might  be  the  means  of  gettin' 
us  in  I "' 

"  Are  you  destitute,  then  ?  "' 

"Are  we  not,  sir?'"  struck  in  Bill;  '' reg'ler  "ard  up,  and 
no  mistake." 

"  Got  no  home,  no  wittles,  and  never  a  penny  to  buy  none 
with.     That 's  about  the  size  of  how  destitoot  we  are,  sir." 

"  How  did  you  manage,  then,  to  buy  the  tobacco  I  saw 
you  smoking  just   now  ?  " 

I  saw  that  the  unexpected  question  took  him  somewhat 
aback.     But  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 

"  I  did  n't  buy  it,  sir,"  he  replied,  with  another  wriggle ; 
"  no  fear.  If  I  'd  liad  a  penny  I  "d  have  bought  a  penn'orth 
of  bread  and  divided  it  atween  us.  No,  sir,  I  was  smokin' 
a  'arf  pipe  of  'bacca  I  begged  off  a  workin'-man,  coz  I  had 
the  toothache  so  awful  bad." 

'•  Which  it  do  make  'em  ache,  and  all  your  l)ones  as  well," 
remarked  Charley,  "sleepin'.  on  a  hempty  stomach  out  in 
a  cart,  like  we  've  been  doin'  this  month  and  more.  If  you 
could  get  us  into  that  House,  sir  !  " 

My  opinion  of  tlie  precious  pair  was  certainly  not  improved 
by  closer  inspection.  They  were  wretchedly  clad  and  well- 
nigh  shoeless,  but  their  bodily  condition  was  far  from  being 
that   of  two   youths   reduced   to    the    verge    of  starvation. 


SHIBKEItS  AND  HEEOES.  101 

Indeed,  they  v.^ere  rather  plump  and  sleek  than  otherwise. 
Sturdily  built,  muscular  young  fellows,  fit  for  any  sort  of 
rough,  hard  work ;  but,  endeavor  to  conceal  it  how  they  might, 
tliere  was  that  in  the  demeanor  of  both  that  betrayed  them. 
They  were  of  the  hulking  sort,  street-corner  loungers  of  the 
unmitigated  lazybones  breed,  much  given  to  standing  at 
ease  at  alley  entries,  with  their  feet  crossed  and  their  hands 
enjoying  warmth  and  re})Ose  in  their  pockets.  And,  unless 
I  was  mistaken,  Bill's  soft  cap  was  pulled  to  its  full  capacity 
over  his  head,  not  so  much  that  he  objected  to  expose  his 
ears  to  the  gaze  of  the  public,  as  to  hide  the  havoc  a  prison 
barber  had  made  with  his  hair. 

I  had  seen  several  decidedly  unhandsome  specimens  of 
the  3'outhful  ''rough"  kind  in  the  wood-chopper  shed,  but 
none  that  so  plainly  bore  the  irreclaimable  brand  as  these 
two.  The  wonder  to  me  was  what  could  have  put  it  into 
their  heads  to  seek  admission  at  the  Labor-House,  v^here 
tliey  certainly  would  have  to  work  hard  for  all  the  benefits 
bestowed  on  them.  Perhaps  they  were  mistaken  as  to  the 
sort  of  institution  it  was. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  have  interest  enough  to  obtain  your 
admittance,"  I  remarked,  '•'•but  I  know  enough  about  the 
place,  and  of  the  way  that  workers  there  are  treated,  to  give 
3'ou  some  information  on  the  subject  if  you  desire  it.  Of 
course,  you  are  aware  that  the  labor  test,  as  I  may  call  it, 
is  rather  severe." 

They  glanced  askance  at  each  other. 

"No  other  can't  be  expected,"  one  of  them  remarked. 

"O,  yes,  we  are  aware  of  that,  as  you  say,  sir.  They  have 
to  keep  the  place  clean  and  make  themselves  useful,  don't 
they?" 

"  The}^  don't  have  such  an  easy  time  of  it  as  that,"  I 
replied;  "they  have  to  work  in  the  woodyard  sawing  and 
cho})ping  from  morning  till  night,  with  a  strict  foreman  to 


102 


STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 


watch  over  them,  and  who  takes  care  to  stop  their  food  if 
they  are  caught  shirking  the  task  set  to  them." 

They  regarded  each  other  with  an  expression  of  counte- 
nance that  told,  as  plain  as  speech,  that  they  had  been  wrongly 
informed. 


HEROES. 


"I  just  now  saw  about  twenty  of  them,"  I  continued, 
"  stripped  to  the  shirt-sleeves,  sweating  away  at  their  work 
in  a  way  it  would  have  done  3'our  heart  good  to  see." 

Bill's    companion    uttered    an    involuntary    growl,     but. 


SHIRKERS  AND  HEROES.  lOo 

nudged  by  the  latter,  he  changed  if  to  a  cough  ;  but  the  ill- 
disguised  screwing  of  his  visage  betokened  what  were  his 
unexpressed  thoughts  on  the  subject  of  perspiration  induced 
by  vigorous  bodily  exercise.  But  Bill  was  not  disposed  to 
give  up  the  matter  yet. 

"  Well,  I  don't  blieve  that  sweatin'  does  you  any  harm," 
said  he,  "  not  when  you  are  well  grubbed,  and  have  a  good 
suit  of  clothes  give  yer  to  go  about  in  Avhen  you  've  done 
your  work ;  'specially  if  they  ain't  institootion  togs,  with 
buttons  of  that  sort  anybody  can  spot  you  in." 

Then  the  rascal  nudged  Charley,  who  took  heart  and 
brightened  up  a  bit.  I  thought  I  at  last  saw  at  what 
they  were  aiming.  They  had  somehow  heard  of  the  com- 
fortable and  unconspicuous  attire  in  which  the  young  fellows 
who  were  admitted  were  clad ;  and,  underrating  the  worldly 
wisdom  of  the  promoters  of  the  institution,  designed  to  get 
their  rags  changed  for  comfortable  clothes,  and  then  to  bolt 
at  the  earliest  opportunity. 

"  There  you  are  again  mistaken,"  said  I.  "  A  suit  of 
clothes  is  lent,  not  given,  to  the  workers,  and  such  precau- 
tions are  taken  that,  should  they  attempt  to  run  away  with 
the  things,  they  soon  find  themselves  in  the  hands  of  the 
police.  Besides,  they  don't  have  much  chance  of  running 
away.  They  are  never  allowed  off  the  premises  unless  an 
attendant  goes  with  them." 

At  this  Bill's  pent-up  wrath  broke  forth,  defying  further 
restraint. 

"And  this  is  your  bloomhi'  'ouse  of  labor,  is  it!"  he 
exclaimed,  turning  savagely  to  his  companion  ;  ''  workin'  like 
a  'orse  in  a  woodyard  for  your  wittles  and  your  lodgin',  and 
a  suit  of  clothes  wot's  only  lent  to  yer,  mind  yer.  It 
wouldn't  suit  me,  by  a  precious  long  jump!"  And,  Avith 
a  parting  look  at  me  of  the  loftiest  scorn  and  defiance,  he 
turned  abruptly  into  a  side  street,  his  grinning  friend  follow- 


]()4  STBEET  ABABS  AND  Ci  UTTER  SNIPES. 

ing  him.  Meanwliile,  the"  steadfast  tweiit3^-six  provided  for 
at  the  Labor-House  for  Destitute  Youths  were  busily  chop- 
liiug  away  at  the  billets  that  to  them  were  emblematic  of  the 
thicket  that  stood  between  them  and  freedom  and  respecta- 
bility ;  and  a  good  thing  it  would  be  for  our  great  cities  if 
the  number  so  employed  —  their  quality  and  condition  con- 
sidered—  were  increased  a  hundred-fold. 

An  industrious  working-man,  however  hard  up,  despises  the 
lazy  loafer,  who,  rather  than  earn  honest  bread,  sponges  on 
others  or  lives  by  theft.  A  huckster  of  small  wares  thus 
describes  the  rough  :  — 

"  A  '  rough,'  sir,  is  a  lazy  warmint,  and  you  can't  say  much 
of  any  grown-up  human  creeter  who  ought  to  be  working  for 
a  living.  He  '11  make  his  wife  work  for  him,  and  he  '11  beat 
her  if  she  does  n't  do  enough,  and  he  '11  starve  her  and  her 
children  too,  rather  than  go  short  of  beer  and  'bacca.  He  's 
got  a  mind  to  do  an}'  amount  of  willany  ;  but  he  's  mongrel- 
hearted,  and  dare  n't  do  it,  only  in  a  sneaking  and  behind- 
your-back  kind  o'  way.  He  '11  sponge  on  any  one,  will 
a  rough,  and  sham  any  mortal  thing  to  cadge  a  sixpence : 
and  that  being  a  true  picter  of  him,  you  '11  'sense  me  if  I 
prefer  to  call  myself  a  '  General  Dealer."  *" 

It  is  gratifying  to  know  that  all  "■  Arabs '"  are  not  like  the 
lazy  louts  who  shrink  from  saw  or  axe.  Many  of  them  are 
true  heroes  fighting  greater  battles  than  were  foiight  at 
Waterloo  or  Bull  Ran. 

The  late  Thomas  Carlyle,  though  decrying  hero-worship, 
was  nevertheless  a  great  admirer  of  heroes.  Luther,  Crom- 
well, and  others,  were  grand  men  in  the  eyes  of  the  Sage.  The 
title  '■'hero""  calls  up  troops  of  men  belonging  to  every  age  and 
country  who  have  fairly  won  the  distinction.  There  are 
now  living  great  generals,  great  statesmen,  great  })hilan- 
thropists,  who  are  called  heroes.     But  the  world's  unknown 


8HIBKEBS  AND  HEBOES.  105 

arm}^  are  greater  and  grander  than  plumed  knight  or  helmeted 
soldier.  James  Greenwood,  whose  clear  light  shines  into 
the  darkness  of  low  life,  and  whose  pen  calls  aloud  to  his 
generation  to  lend  a  helping  hand,  has  dug  out  of  unseen 
quarries  many  a  hero  with  a  heart  as  big  as  czar  or  emperor, 
beating  right  royally  behind  a  ragged  jacket.  Shame  upon 
us  that  we  cry  ourselves  hoarse  applauding  many  an  unde- 
serving man  and  allow  the  nobler  character  go  by  unheeded. 
There  may  be  a  child  at  our  feet,  whom  we  impatiently  spurn 
from  us,  worthy  of  at  least  an  encouraging  word.  Mr. 
Greenwood  narrates  this  captivating  story :  — 

I  was  taking  advantage  of  a  crossing  swept  in  the  half 
melted  snow,  selfishly  pondering  a  second  whether  it  was 
worth  while  to  unbutton  my  overcoat  to  get  a  penny  for  the 
little  sweeper,  at  the  further  end,  when  another  boy,  who  was 
near  him,  called  out :  — 

"•  D'  ye  hear.  Squeaker,  here  's  your  old  woman  with  the 
mock-turtle." 

As  he  pointed  in  my  direction,  I  looked  l)ack,  and  found, 
close  behind  me,  a  little  girl,  who  might  have  been  twelve 
years  old,  and  whose  wizened  mite  of  a  face  was  overhung 
with  a  bonnet  large  enough  for  a  grandmother,  while  an 
apron  of  coarse  canvas,  and  with  a  bib  to  it,  reached  from 
her  chin  to  her  ankles.  That  was  the  "  old  woman  "  to  whose 
coming  the  other  youth  had  drawn  "  Squeaker's  "  attention, 
I  could  have  no  doubt,  for  there  was  the  "  mock-turtle  "  in 
proof  of  it.  It  was  contained  in  a  three-pint  can,  and  was 
evidently  piping-hot  from  the  soup-kitclien.  It  was  unmis- 
takable that  Squeaker  was  the  crossing-sweeper  boy.  He 
sniffed  the  savory  sou])  afar  off,  and  hailed  it  with  a  '^  hooraj' '' 
and  a  flourish  of  his  old  stumj)  of  a  broom. 

"  You  're  a  reg'ler  good  sort,  you  are.  Poll ;  thei-e  's  no 
mistake   about    that,"    he    exclaimed,   gratefully ;     "  soup    a 


1C6 


STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


Wednesday,  soup  a  Thursday,  and  now  agin  a  Saturday ! 
Jiggered  if  it  ain't  almost  worth  while  to  come  out  and  be 
friz,  to  be  thawed  again  with  this  sort  o'  stuff;  and  such  a 

whackin'  lot,  too  !  Come 
on,  Poll,  and  hev  some  while 
it 's  hot." 

But  Poll  of  the  matronly 
bonnet  and  the  charwoman's 
apron,  though  she  licked  her 
lips,  and  the  steam  of  the 
soup  made  her  eyes  blink 
with  pleasure,  was  not  to 
be  beguiled  from  a  duty 
that  evidently  was  part  of 
the  purpose  of  her  visit. 

"You  get  on  with  it, 
Charley,"'  said  she,  giving 
him  the  can  and  fishing  a 
spoon  from  the  interior  of 
her  apron-bib  ;  "  if  there  's 
a  drop  left  I  can  have  it. 
1  've  got  the  crossin'  to 
mind,  don't  you  know  — 
which  it 's  time,"  she  continued,  as  she  whipped  up  the 
bottom  of  the  apron  and  girt  it  about  her  waist,  to  give 
herself  more    freedom   of  action. 

It  certainly  was  time,  if  the  rights  of  property  were  to  be 
preserved.  While  the  soup  Avas  changing  hands,  the  young 
gentleman  who  had  announced  the  advent  of  the  "mock- 
turtle  "  had  seized  on  the  unoccupied  broom,  and,  on  the 
strength  of  it,  begged  a  copper  from  an  old  lady  who  had 
taken  to  the  crossing.  Poll  was  after  him  in  a  twinkling,  but 
the  mean  rascal  diverted  the  chase  by  flinging  the  broom  into 
the  middle  of  the  road,  and  by  the  time  she  had  recovered  it 
he  was  out  of  sight. 


SQUEAKER. 


SHIEKEBS  AND  HEROES.  107 

"All  right,  Porkey,  old  son,"  remarked  Charley,  alias 
Squeaker,  and  who,  anchored  to  the  soup-can,  was  for  the 
moment  helpless ;  "  it 's  only  borrowed,  Porkey.  I  '11  wait 
on  you." 

Then  he  carried  his  dinner  to  the  least  muddy  step  of  an 
empty  house  near  at  hand,  and  proceeded  to  thaw  himself  at 
the  rate  of  two  spoonfuls  a  second.  I  waited  until  half  the 
soup  had  vanished,  and  he  had  paused  for  breath,  and  then 
I  inquired  what  it  was  the  boy  had  run  away  with.  As  at 
the  time  I  inserted  a  hand  in  my  pocket,  he  must  have  known 
perfectly  well  what  it  meant,  l)ut  he  honestly  replied:  — 

"  On'y  a  penny,  sir.  It 's  alwis  a  penny  with  that  old 
gal." 

And  having  squared  that  small  account,  with  a  trifling 
interest  besides,  Charley  and  I  got  on  conversational  terms. 

"What  did  the  boy  mean  when  he  said  it  was  your  old 
woman  that  was  crossing?" 

Charley  (I  won't  call  him  Squeaker)  looked  up  and  half 
laughed  through  his  mud-plashes  as  he  replied :  — 

"Why,  so  she  is  my  old  woman  —  meanin'  mother,  don't 
you  know.     We  ain't  got  no  other,  so  she  must  be." 

"  '  We,'  did  you  say  ?  " 

"Ah  I  me  and  the  two  kids  —  my  young  brother  and 
sister,  which  she  's  my  sister  as  well,  as  you  miglit  tell  by  her 
lightness." 

(He  meant  her  likeness  to  him ;  but  really  it  was  as  true 
one  way  as  the  other.) 

"  Then  you  have  n't  a  mother  ?  " 

"She's  the  mother,  don't  I  tell  you." 

"And  have  you  got  a  father?" 

"I'm  the  father,"  returned  Charley,  grinning,  at  the  same 
time  stuffing  his  old  cap  into  the  mouth  of  the  can  to  keep 
warm  a  little  of  the  soup  he  had  left  for  Poll.  "She's  the 
mother  and  I  'm  the  father,  don't  you  see  ?  and  the  kids  is 
our  'n  to  look  after,  and  we  keep  them  atween  us." 


108  STBEET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTEIi  SXIPES. 

"  But  where  are  your  parents  ?  " 

"Lord  knows,"  said  Charley,  with  a  hopeless  look  up  the 
Marylebone  Road.  "  They  hooked  it  at  the  hoppin'  time, 
and  they  ain't  come  back  3'et." 

"  And  how  old  are  the  two  younger  children  ?  " 

"Five  one  island  the  other  nigh  about  two." 

"  And  yt)U  and  3'our  sister  work  for  them  ?  " 

"  Certainly  Ave  do  ;  and  keep  the  rent  paid.  We  're  goin" 
to  keep  everythin'  right  and  'spectable  till  mother  comes 
back  again,  and  if  she  don't  come,  nor  father  neither, 
why  "  — 

"■Why,  what  then?"  I  asked,  as  Charley  paused. 

"  Why,  then,  we  're  goin'  to  keep  everythin'  right  and 
'spectable,  don't  I  tell  you  ? " 

'•And  do  you  always  sweep  a  crossing?" 

"•N-no ;  I  'm  general,  I  am,"  returned  Charley  with  the  air 
of  an  elderly  man.  "  I  goes  in  for  anythin'  that  shows  a 
openin'.  This  kind  of  weather  shoAvs  a  openin'  for  cross- 
in's,  so  I  'm  at  it.  But  you  durs'  n't  leave  your  crossin'  a 
minute  or  somebody '11  come  and  prig  it.  That's  Avhy  Poll 
brings  my  grub  instead  of  me  goin'  home  to  it.  She  minds 
the  crossin',  don't  you  see?" 

"And  what  else  do  you  turn  your  hand  to?'' 

"Any  mortal  thing.  Of  mornin's  I'm  })a])ers  —  that's 
from  about  seven  to  ten ;  and  then  I  'm  lights  till  the  even- 
in'  uns  come  out ;  then  I  'm  papers  again  till  eight  or  so  ; 
them  I  'm  lights  again." 

"Till  what  time,  pray  ?  " 

"  Eleven  in  general  ;  earlier  if  it 's  very  Avet ;  later  AAdien 
it 's  fine." 

"  And  your  sister  —  she  stays  at  home  and  ndnds  the  little 
ones,  eh  ?  " 

"  O,  no,  she    don't    though,"    replied    Charley,   Avith    an  • 
€mi)hatic  Avag  of  his  aged  liead.     "  Lor'  bless  you,  no.     Poll 


,iii|ppiilflliiiifj'!i^i| 


THE    FORTUNES   OF  A   STREET   WAIF. 


SHIBKEBS  AND  HEBOES. 


Ill 


earns  more'ii  I  do.  She's  a  \)iise-step  cleaner.  She's  out 
o'  mornin's  abont  eight,  and  home  again  at  twelve ;  and 
while  she's  gone  yonng  Bill  minds  the  l)aby." 

"Now  you  must  tell 
me  one  thing  more," 
said  I  —  and  my  heart 
and  interest  so  warmed 
towards  Charley  fhat  I 
took  out  my  note-book 
to  make  sure. 

"What's  that?" 

"  Tell  me  where  you 
live ;  it  may  be  worth 
your  while." 

Charley  eyed  me  and 
the  book  in  my  hand, 
and  it  was  painfully 
plain  that  a  sudden 
alarm  had  seized  on 
him.  He  rose  from  the 
steps  and,  unstoppering 
the  soup -can,  replaced 
his  old  cap  on  his  head. 
Then,  without  a  word, 
he  darted  into  the  road 
and  joined  Poll,  and 
while  he  hurriedly  ad- 
dressed her  with  liij; 
mouth  as  close  to  her  ear  as  the  enormous  bonnet  would 
admit,  she  looked  across  at  me  in  a  startled  and  deliant 
manner.  Then  she  shouldered  the  old  broom,  and,  Ciuu'ley 
carrying  the  soup-can,  they  lied  in  different  directions,  and 
I  lost  them. 

It  needed   but  a  moment's  reflection   t(j  accoiuit  for  this 


A  SCHOOL   BOARD   VISITOR. 


112  STIiEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

sudden  and  unexpected  proceeding.  My  "  Where  do  you 
live  ? "  the  production  of  my  book  —  and  there  I  stood 
before  Charley,  aged  only  eleven,  that  most  terrible  of 
officials,  a  school  board  visitor. 

The  next  day,  and  the  day  after  that,  having  business 
that  way,  I  looked  out  for  the  brave  little  pair,  but  they 
had  been  effect.ually  scared. 

"What  a  pity  you  frightened  them,  Mr.  Greenwood,  but 
anyhow  I  giv.e  three  cheers  for  Poll  and  Charley ! 

"Great  God!  to  tliink  upon  a  child 
That  has  no  childish  days, 
No  careless  ways,  no  frolics  wild 
No  words  of  prayer  and  praise  ! '' 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"WAYS    THAT    ARE    DARK." 

"Arabs  "  Wonderfully  Inventive.  —  The  Potato-man.  —  "Like  Ajax  Defying  the  Light- 
ning."—  "Arabs"  are  Disappointing. —  Sharp  and  Sly. — Juvenile  Offenders. — 
Stealing  a  Jacket.  —  A  Public-house  Robbery.  —  Three  Bad  Boys. — The  Donation- 
Box.  —  Robbing  a  Bather.  —  Digging  up  a  Diseased  Cow.  —  Drowning  a  Brother.  — 
Carrotty  Joe. —  The  Slice  of  Luck.  —  "I  goes  in  for  New  Inweutions."  —  ''Japan 
Paper  Pair-o'-sauls."  — The  Ruined  Lucifer-man.  —  The  Spill.  —  The  White-faced 
Blacking-Seller.  — Jollying.  — "Wallopin'."  — The  Visit.  — "A  Chip  of  the  Old 
Block."  —  "An  Idle  Warmint."  — The  "Pints."  —  Hair  and  Ears. 

rpHE  "  heathen  Chinee  '*  is  not  the  only  person  given  to 
"  ways  that  are  dark."  Two  can  play  at  that  game, 
and  the  "  Arab  "  has  jnst  claims  to  this  distinction.  As 
they  grow  older  their  shrewdness  and  cunning  comes  into 
requisition.  A  precarious  living  will  not  suffice  a  family 
man.  It  sounds  oddly  enough,  nevertheless  it  is  even  so, 
that  "  Arabs  "  mature  and  become  heads  of  families.  The 
growing  responsibilities,  whenever  recognized,  greatly 
develop  their  business  capabilities.  Wonderfully  inventive 
in  adopting  new  methods,  and  holding  their  special  lines 
with  the  air  of  a  monopolist,  certainly  they  deserve  to  main- 
tain their  unique  positions  undisturbed.  Of  course  I  have 
reference  to  specialists.  Here  is  one  whose  only  tools  are 
a  bag  of  large-sized  raw  potatoes :  — 

The  man  is  beyond  middle  age,  and  his  head  is  bald,  or 
nearly  so ;  and  all  over  his  cranium,  from  the  forehead  tt) 
the  base  of  his  skull,  are  bumps  unknown  to  the  phrenolo- 
gist. There  are  blue  bumps,'  and  bumps  of  a  faded  greenish 
hue,  and  bumps  red  and  inflamed,  and  his  bald  sconce  looks 
as  though  it  had  been  out  in  a  rain  of  spent  bullets.  It  is 
not  so,  however ;  it  has  only  been  exposed  to  a  downpour 
of  raw  potatoes.     He  is  well  known,  and  as  soon  as  he  puts 


114  STREET  AliABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

his  bag  down,  and  divests  himself  of  his  coat,  is  quickly 
surrounded  by  a  ring  of  spectators. 

"  Here  I  am  again,"  he  says,  with  a  grin,  as  he  takes  off 
his  cap  and  exposes  his  mottled  skull ;  "  here  is  the  old  man 
once  more,  an*  lie  's  not  dead  jet.  You  '11  see  a  treat  to-day, 
for  my  taters  are  bigger  than  ever  they  were  before,  an', 
what 's  more,  they  're  •■  Yorkshire  reds,'  the  hardest  tater 
that  grows.  I  shall  do  it  once  too  often,  there  's  no  mistake 
about  that ;  but  I  've  served  the  public  faithful  for  five  years 
an'  more,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  back  out  now.  Here  a'ou  are : 
here  's  a  tater  that  weiglis  half  a  pound  if  it  weiglis  an  ounce. 
Chuck  a  bit  in  the  ring,  an"  up  it  goes." 

As  soon  as  the  pennies  are  '•'•  chucked '"  into  the  ring,  up 
it  does  go — high  above  the  houses;  and  the  man  with  the 
mottled  head  folds  his  arms,  like  Ajax  defying  the  lightning, 
and  gazes  skywards,  prepared  for  the  descending  missile ; 
and  presenth'  it  strikes  him  with  a  sounding  thud,  and  is 
smashed  into  a  dozen  pieces  with  the  concussion,  and  bespat- 
ters his  visage  with  the  pulp. 

One  is  never  morally  certain  of  success  with  "  Arabs." 
It  will  not  do  to  count  chickens  till  the}^  are  grown,  as,  even 
after  released  from  their  shell-prison,  the  pip  may  pop  them 
off,  or  the  hawk  may  hasten  their  death.  So  with  young 
vagabonds.  They  are  very  disappointing,  for,  even  where  in- 
tention is  right,  habit  is  strong,  and,  like  an  uncertain  horse, 
they  may  stumble  at  any  time,  or  l)reak  rein  and  dash  awaj". 
It  will  never  do  to  trust  every  boy  on  first  acquaintance; 
although  yovii'  purse  is  not  left  to  his  guardianship,  he 
may  possil)ly  make  more  familiar  with  your  })0cket  than  is 
agreeable.  Nor  is  it  wise  to  impress  them  that  you  have 
them  under  shar[)  surveillance.  It  Avill  make  it  worse,  if 
they  suspect  that  your  intentions  toward  them  are  not  honor- 
able.     Lose    a   boy    once    throusjh   a   false    estimate    of  his 


''WAYS  THAT  AliE  DAJiK. 


115 


chara3ter,  and  you  will  find  it  difficult  to  win  him  back 
again.  Some  boys  must  be  mastered  by  the  force  of  will ; 
others  —  the  greater  number  —  are  won  by  love,  and 
elevated  by  kindly  counsel. 

The  typical  "  Arab  "  is  sharp  and  sly.     With  a  seriously 
sad  face  he  will  detail  his  grievances  while  his  hand  is  busy 


A   PICKPOCKET   STILL. 


with  your  watch.  They  are  quick  terriers  and  will  smell  a 
policeman  at  a  great  distance.  At  times  they  grow  impu- 
dent towards  him.  I  heard  of  one,  eight  years  old,  who 
would  skin  a  ''  l)oljl)y '"  with  his  rasping  tongue.  Horse-car 
conductors  and  omnibus-drivers  are  often  goaded  into  fury 
by  their  antics.  Shopkeepers  are  raided  upon,  and,  even 
when  hunger  is  not  prompting,  they  cannot  keep  their  hands 
from  picking  and  stealing,  for  the  very  mischief  of  doing  it. 


116  STREET  AEABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Graver  crimes  and  depredations  are  frequently  committed 
by  juvenile  offenders.  Reference  to  the  police  reports  will 
reveal  many  a  strange  tale  of  childish  villainy. 

One  is  charged  with  maliciously  causing  the  death  of  his 
brother  by  drowning  him  ;  one  (a  girl)  with  being  drunk  and 
incapable ;  five  with  roblaing  their  employers  in  the  capacity 
of  errand-boys  ;  three  with  digging  up  a  diseased  cow  for  the 
sake  of  stripping  it  of  its  fat;  one  with  aggravated  assault; 
two  with  making  off  with  a  bather's  clothes ;  and  four  with 
orchard  robberies.  But  those  charged  with  graver  offences 
outnumber  all  the  others  put  together.  Little  lads,  many  of 
them  no  more  than  nine  years  of  age,  are  charged  with  being 
concerned  in  various  burglaries,  housebreakings,  and  thefts 
from  inhal)ited  houses. 

As  bare  fact  this  would  be  bad  enougli,  but  the  details  of 
many  of  the  cases  reveal  a  degree  of  criminal  precocity  that 
forcibly  brings  back  to  the  memory  the  gaol  chaplain's  warn- 
ing words :  — 

'•  We  find  mere  children  of  ten  or  twelve  years  acting  Avith 
an  amount  of  daring  audacity  and  cool  design  altogether 
irreconcilable  with  the  probability  of  its  being  their  first 
offence,  or  the  freak  of  mere  children  who  cannot  be  held 
responsible  for  their  actions." 

In  one  instance,  two  promising  babes,  each  aged  nine  years, 
in  broad  daylight,  and  on  the  chance  of  discovering  portable 
plunder,  made  their  way  into  a  private  house  by  means  of  the 
washhouse  window.  •  The  handiest  article  within  reach 
chanced  to  be  a  lady's  new  cloth  jacket,  and  with  this  they 
safely  retreated  the  way  they  came.  But  the  plunder  being 
secured,  which,  no  doubt,  Avas  worth  several  dollars,  the 
difficulty  arose  how  to  dispose  of  it.  They  were  too  young 
to  offer  it  at  the  pawnbroker's  and  too  shrewd  to  run  the  risk 
of  tendering  it  for  sale  at  a  shop  in  a  neighborhood  where 
they   were   probably   known.     So    they   settled   the  matter 


''WAYS  THAT  ABE  DABK:' 


117 


safely,  though  at  a  ruinous  sacrifice,  by  tearing  the  new  jacket 
into  shreds  and  disposing  of  it  for  a  few  cents  at  a  ragshop. 

Two  boys  break  into  a  house  in  the  dead  of  niglit.  The 
prisoners  (on  one  of  whom  was  found  the  last  instalment  of 
a  weekly  romance  entitled  ''  The  Black  Highwayman  ")  re- 
sisted violently  when  apprehended  on  the  premises  by  the 
police,  until  one  of  them  remarked  to  the  other:  "It's  no 
use.  Bill ;  we  'd  best  go  quiet."  There  was  conclusive  evi- 
dence that  they  had  endeavored  to  force  the  door  of  the 
wine-cellar  with  a 
poker  and  a  gar- 
den -  fork,  a  n  d  a 
large  kitchen-knife 
was  discovered  in 
the  drawing-room, 
where  it  had  been 
used  in  opening 
drawers,  and  prop- 
erty to  the  value 
of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars 
had  been  put  to- 
gether ready  for 
removal. 

About  the  same 
date    four    boys 

were  concerned  in  burglariously  breaking  into  a  ^mblie- 
house  in  tlie  same  district,  the  entry  being  effected  by 
means  of  the  skylight.  The  actual  robbery  was  entrusted 
to  one  of  the  gang,  the  other  three  keeping  watch  outside. 
They  ran  away  on  the  ai)})roacli  of  tlie  policeman,  wlio 
entered  the  house  and  found  the  juvenile  robber  beliind  tlie 
door  with  two  bottles  of  spirits  in  his  possession,  together 
with  four  packets  of  tobacco  and  a  considerable  ({uantity 
of  money. 


fi<^/\-k 


118  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

A  few  days  later  a  sixteen-year-old  burglar  is  caught,  who 
had  broken  into  the  premises  of  an  oil-and-color  man  and 
packed  up  a  good  parcel  of  plunder  in  the  kitchen.  But, 
although  in  the  eye  of  the  law  the  offence  is  of  less  magni- 
tude, there  is  no  case  among- the  heavy  batch  which  for  vice 
and  depravity  equals  that  of  three  boys  —  two  of  them  aged 
fourteen  and  the  other  thirteen  —  who  were  indicted  for  a 
series  of  systematic  robberies  committed  on  their  masters, 
who  were  goldsmiths  and  jewelers.  It  appeared  in  evidence 
that  the  depredations  had  been  going  on  for  several  months, 
the  elder  two  boys  asserting  that  it  was  the  younger  —  the 
one  aged  thirteen  —  who  had  dragged  them  into  crime  and 
"  egged  "  them  on.  Indeed,  if  the  testimony  coolly  tendered 
by  one  witness  might  be  relied  on,  the  said  youth  must  be 
as  promising  a  young  rascal  as  ever  stood  in  a  prison  dock. 
The  witness  in  question  was  a  girl ;  and  the  revelation 
she  had  to  make  was  that  the  thirteen-year-old  boy  had 
lived  with  her  for  about  five  months,  and  that  during  that 
time  he  had  fre([uently  handed  to  her  various  articles  of 
jewelery  to  pledge,  and  she  had  done  his  bidding  and 
handed  him  the  proceeds,  and  in  corroboration  of  her  state- 
ment she  gave  the  names  of  different  pawnbrokers  who  were 
in  attendance,  bringing  with  them  the  chains,  lockets,  neck- 
lets, bracelets,  etc.,  on  which  money  had  been  raised. 

After  this  appalling  instance  of  juvenile  crime,  it  furnishes 
but  tame  reading  to  be  informed  that  an  ingenious  little 
fellow,  aged  eleven  years,  was  charged  with  attempting  to 
rob  a  donation-box  attached  to  a  public  soup-kitchen.  The 
novel  arrangements,  however,  the  young  delinquent  had 
made  to  effect  his  aim  are  worth  mentioning.  He  had  bent 
a  piece  of  iron  and  inserted  it  in  the  money-slit  of  the  l)ox 
in  such  a  manner  that  any  coin  afterwards  dropped  in 
would  lodge  ihcroou.  He  v/as  taken  in  the  act  of  operating 
on  the  box  with  two  lucifer-matches  used  by  way  of  jiincers. 


"  WA  YS  THA  T  ARE  DAEK:'  119 

and  when  questioned  declared  that,  so  far  from  intending 
to  take  anything  out,  he  had  observed  some  money  peeping 
through  the  slit,  and  he  was  endeavoring  to  push  it  down. 

Again,  a  boy  of  nine  was  charged  with  ''  stealing  a  jacket, 
a  pair  of  boots,  a  pair  of  stockings,  a  collar,  and  a  necktie," 
the  whole  valued  at  a  dollar  and  a  half  and  being  the  prop- 
erty of  another  boy  who,  in  consequence  of  being  engaged 
at  the  time  bathing,  was  unable  .to  protect  his  belongings. 
The  bather  said  the  accused  ran  off  with  the  bundle  and 
handed  it  to  a  confederate  in  the  distance,  after  which  he 
returned  to  the  spot,  presumably  for  the  victim's  trousers 
and  shirt,  and  when  asked  what  he  had  done  with  the  things, 
he  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  them,  and  threatened  to 
"  punch "  the  prosecutor  if  he  attempted  to  follow  him. 

Greed  and  mischief  seem  sometimes  strangely  blended  in 
the  juvenile  mind,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that,  included 
in  the  court  record,  we  find  four  "  small  boys "  brought 
up  for  shying  stones  at  passenger-trains  on  the  railway, 
and  two  more  a  week  after  (one  had  attained  to  the  ticklish 
age  of  nine)  who  had  amused  themselves  by  flinging  por- 
tions of  bricks  and  flint-stone  on  to  the  roof  skylight  of  a 
passenger-station,  some  of  them  breaking  through  the  thick 
glass  and  falling  on  the  platform  beneath. 

Other  boy  delinquents,  it  appears,  combine  business  with 
pleasure,  as  witness  the  incident  of  the  three  young  fellows 

—  two  of  them  being  aged  respectively  twelve  and  thirteen 

—  who  were  charged  with  the  novel  though  dangerous 
offence  of  digging  up  the  body  of  a  cow  thiit  had  been 
buried  jn  a  field  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cattle-market,  their 
object  being  to  cut  as  much  of  the  fat  as  they  could  from 
the  carcase,  and  realize  its  worth  at  the  marine-store  dealer's. 
The  animal,  as  was  shown,  had  been  slaughtered  in  conse- 
quence of  its  being  afflicted  with  a  contagious  disease,  and 
it  Avas  admitted  that  the  carcase  was  not  quite  covered  with 
earth,  though  who  was  res2)onsible  for  that  serious  neglect 


20 


STItEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 


did  not  appear.  Anyhow,  the  three  boys  were  taken  red- 
handed,  and  one  of  them  sentenced  to  three  weeks'  hard 
labor,  the  otlier  two  being  remanded  for  a  week. 

I  will  quote  but  one  more  case, 
the  most  grave  and  unaccountable, 
considering  the  age  of  the  accused 

—  a  boy  of  eleven.  He  was 
charged  with  having  pushed  his 
brother  into  the  Thames,  and  so 
caused  his  death.  It  was  done  in 
tlie  presence  of  a  witness,  a  child 
aged  nine.  The  last -mentioned 
heard  the  elder  brother  quarreling 
with  tlie  younger,  and  saw  him 
thrust  the  boy  off  the  dock-wall 
into  the  Avater ;  and  on  the  wit- 
ness threatening  to  tell,  the  other 

—  witlR)Ut,  as  it  appears,  making 
the  least  effort  to  help  his  drown- 
ing brother  —  shook  his  fist  in  the 
child's    face,   saying,   "•  I  '11    punch 

your  nose  if  you  say  that  I  chucked  him  in."  It  was  not 
until  three  days  afterward  that  tlie  distracted  mother,  who, 
meanwhile,  had  been  making  inquiries  in  every  direction  for 
her  lost  little  son,  obtained  a  clue  to  what  had  hapj^ened. 

Such  a  deplorable  state  of  affairs  furnishes  a  grim  com- 
mentary on  our  boasted  intellectual  advancement,  and  on  the 
increasing  demand  for  more  money  to  bring  as  nearly  as 
possible  to  perfection  the  present  system  of  education. 

Adult  '"Arabs"  are  known  to  prey  on  the  uninitiated. 
The  following  is  well  authenticated:  — 


There  was  at  one  time  to  be  seen  in  the  neighborhood  of 
'"The  Angel"  at  Islington,  a  fat  and  well-fed,  dirty-looking. 


''WAYS  THAT  ABE  DABKr  121 

middle-aged  man,  who  himself  sold  cigar-lights,  and  who  was 
reputed  to  have  "made  his  fortune,"  and  retired  to  rural 
independence  out  of  profits  derived  from  a  score  or  so  of 
rao'o-ed  urchins  who  sold  for  him  "on  commission,"  his 
allowance  to  them  being  three  halfpence  in  the  sixpence  on 
gross  returns. 

"I  recollects  him,"  said  a  veteran  in  the  "trade"  of  at 
least  eleven  years  old,  and  with  whom  I  had  some  conversa- 
tion. "  Carrotty  Joe,  you  mean.  I  worked  for  him  goin'  on 
for  six  months.  That 's  ever  so  many  a  year  ago.  I  got 
stone  broke  through  hearin'  of  a  stunnin'  piece  wot  was  out 
at  the  Vic,  an'  when  I  got  there  with  another  chap  there  was 
no  room  in  the  gallery,  and  'stead  of  comin'  away  we  stopped 
lookin'  at  the  picters  of  the  piece  outside  till  w^e  couldn't 
■  stand  it,  an'  we  both  paid  a  tanner  —  all  we  had  —  to  go  into 
tlie  pit.  That  was  why  I  took  to  workin'  for  Joe  —  three 
ha'pence  in  sixpence. on  cigar-lights.  O,  yes,  it  paid  pretty 
well.  Leastways,  the  lights  did.  Joe  paid,  too,  but  he  was 
such  a  oner  for  tossin'.  He  would  n't  give  you  a  job  unless 
y(ui  tossed  with  him  for  wliat  you  made.  '  Threepence  or 
nothin','  when  you  had  three  ha'pence  comin',  an'  if  you 
won  that,  '  sixpence  or  nothin' ; '  an'  so  he  'd  go  on  double 
or  quits,  till  you  lost  the  lot,  an'  p'r'aps  got  a  tanner  into  his 
debt,  an'  then  you  had  to  take  your  earnin's  mostly  in 
wittles,  what  he  brought  with  him  in  his  coat-pockets  — 
lumps  of  bread  an'  bits  of  cheese,  wot  he  give  about  three- 
pence a  pound  for. 

"That  was  his  artfulness,  don't  you  see,  mister.  Takin' 
it  out  in  wittles  stood  in  the  way  of  us  gettin'  a  bit  of  stock- 
money  an'  starting  on  our  own  hook,  an',  then,  he  had  the 
cigar-light  business  atween  The  Angel,  right  away  to  High- 
bury an'  t'  other  road  down  to  The  Eagle  in  tlie  City  Road, 
almost  all  in  his  own  hands.  One  of  the  artfulest  coves  Joe 
was.     GenTmen  used  to  deal  with  him,  an'  drop  him  four- 


122 


STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 


pennies  an'  that,  cos  he  was  so  kind  to  j)oor  boys.  He  used 
to  give  us  out  our  wittles  for  breakfast  when  tlie  gen'l'men 
was  waitin'  about  for  a  'bus,  an'  they  used  to  think  that  it 
was  his  charitable  ways.  If  any  one  took  any  notice  he  'd 
say :  — 

"  •  Poor  little  beggars ;  a  poor  man   like  wot  I  am  can't 

afford  it,  but  I  can't 
abear  to  see  'em  hungry 
which  p'r'aps  I  sha'n't 
be  any  wuss  off  for  it.' 
"Which  he  jolly  well 
knowed  he  wasn't, 
chargin'  a  penny  for  a 
chunk  of  bread  that 
didn't  cost  him  a 
ha'penny.  No;  I  didn' 
work  for  Artful  Joe  till 
he  made  his  fortune  an' 
cut  the  business.  I  had 
a  slice  of  luck.  It  was 
at  nighttime  an'  wery 
nigh  the  last  'bus  to 
Wictoria.  Gen'l'man 
on  the  top,  he  says, 
says  he :  — 

"  '  Box  of  wax  ones, 
boy.' 
"So    I    chucks   it    up,  an'   he    chucks   down   the   penny. 
Leastways  it  wasn't  a  penny;  it  was  a  two-shilliu'  bit. 
"'Do  you  know  what  you  give  me,  sir?'  I  asked  him. 
'• '  Rayther,'  he  says,  swearing.      '  You  won  't  get  more  'n 
a  ha'penny  out  o'  me  for  a  box  o'  lights,  I  can  tell  you.' 

"  '  All  right,'  I  says :  '  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  pertickler  if  you 
don't  mind '  —  which  it  served  him  right,  for  the  wax  lights 


"■WAYS  THAT  ARE  DARKr 


123 


cost  fourpence  ha'penny  a  dozen.  But  I  durs'  n't  tell  any 
of  'em,  nor  yet  Joe.  The  gent  Avas  a  reg'lar  rider,  don't  you 
see,  an'  Joe  would  'a'  made  me  give  it  up  to  him,  so  as  he 
might  have  giv'  it  back  to  the  gent  an'  been  told  to  keep 
it  for  his  honesty  very  likely.  I  've  been  on  my  own  hook 
ever  since.  What  do  I  reckon  to  make  ?  Sometimes  nine- 
pence  or  tenpence  in  a  day. 


Sometimes  not  more  'n 
fourpence  or  fippence.  I 
don't  go  in  for  cigar-lights 
now.  Come  to  pay  two- 
pence ha'penny  a  dozen  for 
flamers  an'  soovians,  an' 
sell  'em  at  three  boxes  a 
penny,  which  they  've  been 
brought  down  to,  you'd 
better  go  'tottin'.  Pickin' 
up  bones,  I  mean.  No  ;  J 
goes  in  mostly  for  new  in- 
wentions  in  the  trick  toy 
way.     What  dt)  I  mean  by 

that  ?  Well,  you  can  see  a  lot  of  it  any  day  in  the  City  round 
about  the  Bank  an'  Broad  Street  an'  Cheapside.  Puzzle 
cards  —  how  to  find  the  Lord  Mayor  in  the  Zulu  ladies' 
school  was  one  of  'em.  That  give  me  a  good  day  that  card 
did.  I  sold  three  dozen  an'  six  at  The  Ansrel  in  one  arter- 
noon  an'  evenin',  when  it  fust  come  out,  at  a  penny  each,  an' 
they  cost  only  threepence  a  dozen.  There  ain  't  a  day  but 
wot  somethin'  new  comes  up  —  bird-whistles,  tickin'  watches, 
magic  flowers,  spring-wire  spiders,  magic  iiiikerscopes.  Never 
more  'n  a  penny  each.  They  would  n't  sell  if  they  was 
dearer.  Houndsditch  you  buy  'em  in  mostly,  an'  they  're 
half  profit.  But  you  have  to  keep  your  eyes  open.  They 
are  always    a-comin'    out    with  these    new    dodges,  but  the 


124  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

novelty  wears  off  "em  quicker  'n  a  boot-sliinin'  sometimes. 
I  nearly  got  broke  over  goin"  in  vast  for  them  Japan  paper 
pair-o'-sauls.  It  was  when  they  first  come  over.  You  've 
seen  'em  p'r'aps,  sir.  'Bout  as  large  as  a  sarser,  an'  all 
painted,  an'  let  up  an*  down  all  reg'lar.  I  Avas  sweet  on 
'em,  an*  trusted  'em  with  all  my  stock-money — -one  an' 
nine  —  at  fourpence  a  dozen.  It  was  sunny  when  I  bought- 
'em.  The  weather  looked  like  lastin',  but  blowedif  it  did  n't 
set  in  wet  soon  as  I  got  'em,  an'  it  rained  an'  rained  every 
day  for  more  'n  a  week.  I  altered  the  name  of  'em  an' 
called  'em  umbrellas  'stead  of  pair-o*-sauls,  but  it  was  no 
good.  I  durs'  n*t  show  'em,  don't  you  see,  sir,  for 
fear  of  the  rain  sp'ilin'  'era,  an'  the  wet  got  into  the  box 
1  kept  'em  in  an'  made  mash  of  nearly  a  dozen.  I  don't 
remember  ever  havin'  such  a  funky  time  as  that  was.  One 
blessed  penny  was  all  I  took  one  day,  an'  that  *s  all  I  had 
to  buy  grub  with,  an"  all  the  while  gettin'  into  debt  at 
threepence  o*  night  at  my  lodgin",  which  was  n"t  worth  the 
money,  through  my  layin'  awake,  an'  wishin'  an'  hopin' 
that  it  might  be  a  fine  day  to-morrer.  But  it  wasn't.  It 
would  hold  up  in  the  night,  but  in  the  mornin'  down  it 
came  again,  an*  kep'  it  up  till  dark.  Why,  it  was  enough 
to  make  anybody  do  anythink.'" 

"'  And  what  did  you  do  ?  '* 

-  Well,  I  don't  say  it  was  a  right  thing  to  do,"  replied 
the  worthy  pupil  of  Artful  Joe ;  "  but  I  was  druv  to  it. 
There  was  a-lodgin'  in  the  same  buildin's  in  Golden  Lane 
where  I  was,  a  chap  —  a  old  man  who  used  to  pay  a  extra 
penny  every  mornin'  for  warm  water  an'  soap  to  wash  his 
white  hair,  which  he  wore  long  —  who  used  to  Avork  the 
ruined  lucifer-man's  game." 

'-What  is  that?'* 

"  Why,  make  b'lieve  somebody  run  agin  him,  an'  pushed 
him  down    in  the  mud  an'  spilt    all  his  stock,  which  there 


''WAYS  THAT  ABE  DABK.-"  125 

it  was,  an"  him  a-cryin'  as  he  picked  iiis  up  loose  matches 
out  of  the  gutter.  He  'd  get  as  much  as  half-a-crown  col- 
lected for  him  for  a  couple  of  penn'orth.  Well,  he  see  the 
fix  I  was  in  with  these  blessed  pair-o'-sauls,  wliich  was  all 
gone  limj)  an'  not  one  fit  to  open  by  this  time,  an'  he  says 
to  me :  — 

"'A  nod  is  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  l)lind  'orse,  Teddy. 
Have  a  spill  with  'em.' 

"  So  I  did.  I  Ijrought  it  off  just  opposite  that  big  chapel 
in  Upper  Street,  Avlien  the  people  was  flockin'  out  in  the 
evenin'.  I  got  another  chap  —  bigger  than  me  —  to  begin 
quarrelin'  with  me,  an'  punchin'  me,  an'  then  he  threw  me 
down  an'  jumped  on  my  tray  what  the  pair-o*-sauls  was  in, 
so  that  they  was  all  squashed  in  the  mud,  an'  then  he  ran 
away.  Ever  so  many  gen'l'men  an'  hidies  see  him  do  it  as 
they  was  comin'  out  with  their  im-books  an'  that,  but  he 
was  off  before  they  could  ketch  him.  Close  upon  two  shill- 
iii's  that  brought  me  in,  an'  I  was  set  up  again.  Give  you 
my  word,  mister,-  I  'd  rather  have  worked,  for  I  ain't  done 
nothink  like  it  ever  since.  It  on'y  shows  you  what  a  feller 
miofht  come  to  if  he  was  druv." 

As  "  Arabs  "  are  much  alike  the  world  over,  I  select  again 
from  Mr.  Greenwood  a  veritable  description,  given  by  a 
proud  father,  which  will  indoctrinate  my  readers  in  arab- 
ology.     It  will  be  of  great  value  to  know  the  "pints":  — 

"Please,  sir,  did  you  want  any  blackin'  ?  " 

To  be  invited  to  have  one's  boots  cleaned  has  become 
so  common  a  feature  of  London  street  pedestrianism,  as 
to  excite  no  surprise  whenever  or  wherever  tlie  useful 
industry  involved  is  practised ;  but  to  be  solicited  in  a  com- 
paratively secluded  locality  like  Lincoln's  Inn,  to  purchase 
material  for  the    personal  exercise  of  the  polishing-brushea 


126 


STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


seemed  so  odd,  that  I  involuntarily  paused  to  contemplate 
the  small  pedlar  who  put  the  question  to  me.  He  was  ten 
years  old,  perhaps  —  a  white-faced,  miserably -clad,  thin  little 
boy,  but  intelligent  looking,  and  so  unaccountably  shy,  that, 
as  I  looked  at  him  and  he  at  me,  he  appeared  painfully 
endjarrassed,  and  as  if  rather  than  detain  me  a  minute  longer, 
even  though  a  purchase  came  of  it,  he  would  prefer  that  I 


^' 


>:»>%>  ^^■-'^- 


T-^^ 


would  curtly  cast  him  off  with  a  ''  No,"  and  let  him  go  his 
way.  Nor  did  it  seem  to  set  him  at  his  ease  when  I  gave 
him  a  penny,  declining  to  accept  the  three  moist  and  sooty 
little  packets  he  tendered  in  exchange. 

"•  This  is  not  a  very  likely  j^lace  for  selling  blacking," 
I  remarked  to  him;  "you  should  try  bustling  streets,  where 
there  are  plenty  of  peojjle  passing  to  and  fro." 

"  I    kjiow    that,  sir,"    he    replied,    miserably.     "  I    should 


"  WA  YS  THA  T  ABE  DABK."  127 

catch  it  if  father  found  me  here.  On'y  I  can't  bear  to  ply 
in  the  lane  —  Leather  Lane,  I  mean.  That 's  where  my  two 
brothers  stand.  But  the  other  boys  won't  let  me  alone. 
They  're  always  jollyin'  me,  an'  my  two  brothers  join  in 
an'  won't  take  my  part." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  jollying  ?  " 

"  Chaffin'  me,  an'  pullin'  my  hair,  an'  smoothin'  me  down 
the  face,  an'  makin'  all  manner  of  game  at  me.  I  feel  as 
though  I  could  smash  'em,  if  I  Avas  big  enougli." 

And  as  he  spoke  the  small  blacking-boy's  eyes  flashed 
through  tears,  wliich  he  furtively  flicked  away  witli  the  ciift' 
of  his  old  jacket  as  he  turned  away  his  head. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  like  selling  things  in  the  streets  ?  " 

"  I  don't,  sir,"  he  replied,  looking  up  quickly ;  ^  I  hate  it. 
I  —  ain't  got  the  knack  of  it  somehow." 

''  And  do  your  father  and  mother  know  that  you  don't 
like  it?" 

"  Yes,  they  know  it,  Ijut  I  dare  n't  say  much  to  fatlier  for 
fear  of  a  wallopin'.  Mother  knows  it,  l)ut  we  don't  talk 
about  it  ver}'  often.  She  makes  allowance  for  me,  unbe- 
known to  my  two  brothers,  who  would  round  on  me  an' 
mother  too  if  they  knowed  it,  an'  then  fatlier  'd  walloj)  her." 

The  walloping  propensities  of  the  Ijlacking-boy's  father 
notwithstanding,  liere  was  a  case  for  some  one's  interference. 
To  say  the  least,  tlie  school  board  liad  a  claim  to  the  cliild 
for  some  years  to  come ;  and,  though  I  could  not  be  verj' 
sanguine  of  success  if  I  ventured  to  find  out  and  ar^ue  with 
his  unnatural  parent,  I  felt  curious  to  incpiire  a  little  into 
the  matter.  I  contrived  to  get  out  of  tlie  blacking-boy 
where  he  lived,  and  the  time  in  the  evening  when  his  father 
would  probably  be  at  home.  I  did  not  make  known  to  the 
boy  that  it  was  my  design  to  pay  a  vist  to  his  paternal  abode, 
a  reserve  I  afterwards  almost  repented  of.  For  wlien  about 
eight    o'clock  that    night    I  tapped  at    tlie  kitchen  door   of 


128  STBEET  AliABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

a  house  in  a  court  near  the  Gray's  Inn  Lane,  and  it  was 
oj^ened  by  the  blacking-boy  himself,  he  looked  so  horribly 
scared  and  shook  so  that  I  thought  he  would  liaye  di'opped 
the  bottle  he  carried  in  his  hand,  and  in  which  a  bit  of 
tallow-candle  was  glimmering.  I  gave  him  all  the  encourage- 
ment and  reassurance  that  could  be  conyeyed  in  a  look  and 
a  nod  and  entered  the  room. 

The  whole  family  were  at  home.  The  father,  a  brawny 
skulking-looking  fellow  in  frowsy  fustian  and  with  a  spotted 
cotton  neckerchief,  the  knot  of  which  was  under  his  ear 
instead  of  under  his  chin,  and  who  wore  his  cap  at  the  fire- 
side, and  mingled  with  the  smoke  from  the  fire  that  of  his 
dirty  short  pipe ;  the  mother,  a  poor  gaunt-looking  creature, 
Avhose  soaked  and  crinkled-looking  hands  betokened  recent 
experience  at  the  washtub,  but  who  in  face  and  features 
was  strikingly  like  the  blacking-boy,  and  the  two  brothers 
of  the  latter.  There  was  an  equally  striking  similarity 
between  them  and  their  father,  and  one,  whose  age  may 
have  been  thirteen,  had  faithfully  copied  the  tie  of  his 
neckerchief  and  the  cock  of  the  peak  of  his  cap,  while  the 
two  short  pipes  might  have  come  from  the  same  mould. 
The  younger  cliild  was  seemingly  a  year  or  two  junior  to 
the  object  of  my  solicitude,  but,  for  his  size,  as  pronounced 
a  chip  of  the  old  lilock  as  his  blackguardly  brother.  My 
blacking-boy  looked  im})loringly  at  me  and  got  beliind  his 
mother. 

''  Get  up.  Jack,  an'  give  the  gentleman  the  cheer,"  slie 
nervously  remarked  to  her  husband,  who  sat  on  the  only 
article  of  furniture  of  the  kind  contained  in  the  room. 

"  P'raps  the  genTman  would  rather  stand,  an'  p'r'aps 
I  'd  rather  he  did,"  he  replied,  with  an  ugly  scowl  and  with 
the  look  and  tone  of  a  man  who  smells  mischief. 

"  What  does  the  genTman  want  here  ?  " 

"I  have  called  merely  to  tell  you,"  I  replied,  with  a  glance 


Brisk  and  cheerful!"  he  exclaimed.     (Page  131.) 


"■WAYS  THAT  ABE  DARK:'  131 

at  the  quiet  young  l)lacking-seller,  "  that,  if  you  will  permit 
me,  I  think  I  may  be  able  to  give  your  little  son  there  some- 
thing better  to  do  than  selling  things  in  the  streets.  I  saw 
him  so  engaged  this  morning,  and,  from  a  few  words  I  had 
with  him,  I  should  imagine  "  — 

"Never  mind  about  tlie  ' imaginin',''  interrupted  the 
father,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  in  a  way  that 
was  significant  of  more  serious  business  shortly  to  follow : 
"  tell  us  about  the  few  words.     "Wot  was  they  ?  " 

I  hope  to  be  forgiven.  It  Avas  for  the  sake  of  the  white 
and  terror-stricken  little  face  beseeching  me  from  the  cover 
of  his  mother's  gown-skirt  that  I  evaded  an  exact  reply. 

"  I  don't  rememl^er  the  words  precisely,"  said  I ;  "  but 
from  his  brisk  and  cheerful  way  of  going  about  his  business, 
it  seemed  to  me  he  might  l)e  better  employed." 

The  man  regarded  me  searchingly  for  a  moment,  and  then 
broke  into  a  hoarse  laugh. 

"  Brisk  an'  cheerful !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  why,  he  's  the 
laziest  warmint  as  ever  was  turned  out  to  peck  for  hisself. 
Brisk  an'  cheerful !  Good  Lord !  An'  he  brings  home 
threepence  ha'penny  arter  bein'  out  about  nine  hours.  I  '11 
settle  with  him  presently." 

"  He  brought  back  nearly  all  his  blackin',  so  it  was  mostly 
profit,  anyhow,"  remarked  the  mother,  timidly. 

"  You  hold  your  jaw,"  returned  the  partner  of  her  joys 
and  sorrows ;  "  I  knows  wot  I  'm  talkin'  about.  Here  's  his 
two  brothers ;  they  goes  out  day  arter  day,  an'  a  shillin' 
a  piece  is  the  worst  they  makes,  an'  that  milkslop  little 
warmint  don't  earn  the  bread  he  eats." 

"  He  don't  try,"  the  elder  brother  with  the  short  pipe  put 
in,  maliciously  ;  "  he  's  fit  to  wear  petticoats  an'  go  to  the 
Sunday-school ;  that  *s  all  he  's  fit  for." 

"Perhaps  he  would  do  better  at  something  else,"  I 
remarked. 


132  STREET  ARABS  AXB  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

"  He  ain't  a-goin'  to  try,  thanky,""  said  his  father,  obsti- 
nately ;  "  he  's  got  to  stick  to  what  he  's  doin'  of.  He  's  got 
to  be  broke  to  it,  or  he  '11  have  his  blessed  neck  broke,  so 
I  tell  him.  A  sort  o'  workman  like  I  am  ain't  a-goin'  to 
be  lived  on  by  idle  warmint  like  he  is.  I  '11  lather  him  afore 
he  goes  to  bed." 

"  No,  no ;  you  don't  mean  it.  Jack,"  the  woman  remarked, 
coaxingly.     "  You  ought  to  make  allowances.  Jack." 

"  Why,  so  I  do,  don't  I  ?  Hain't  I  said  to  you,  over  an' 
over  agin,  it  can't  be  expected  that  Bill  will  ever  do  as  well 
as  the  other  two  —  he  ain't  got  the  pints." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  1,  "he  has  n't  got  what  ?  " 

"  The  pints,  —  the  promisin's,  if  you  like  it  better,  —  the 
features  an'  the  markings.  He  ain't  a  bit  like  me,  more  'n 
a  mungrel  like  a  rattin'  terrier." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  this,  though  an  unprejudiced 
person  might  not  have  felt  disposed  to  agree  that  this  was 
altogether  to  the  boy's  disadvantage. 

"  But  about  the  '  pints,'  "  I  remarked. 

"Ah,  that's  it,"  he  replied,  with  an  amount  of  readiness 
that  denoted  it  a  favorite  subject  with  him.  "  It'  s  the  same 
with  kids  as  with  dawgs.  If  they  ain't  got  the  right  strain 
in  'em  they  are  sure  to  grow  up  curs,  ain't  they?  Can  I 
show  you  how  to  pick  out  the  pints  of  a  boy  ?  Course  I 
can.  This  'ere  one  we  're  talkin'  about  is  what  I  call 
a  soft-roed  one.  He  takes  after  liis  mother,  an'  he  ain't  got 
the  pluck  of  a  tame  rabbit.  Take  the  looks  of  him,  or  feel 
of  his  head,  if  it  comes  to  that "  —  and  he  reached  towards 
the  white  blacking-boy  and  hauled  him  towards  him  by  the 
hair.  "  I  'm  a  bit  of  a  fancier,  you  know,  an'  I  can  tell  the 
pints  of  a  boy  just  the  same  as  I  can  tell  the  pints  of  a  dawg. 
Ketch  'old  of  this  hair.  What's  it  like?  Why,  it's  like 
kitten's  fluff.  Now  clap  your  hand  on  this  one — take  off' 
your    ca}),  Joe  —  there,  it 's    wiry,  ain't    it  ?     Got    a  spring 


"WAYS  THAT  ARE  DAEK.''  133 

in  it ;  that 's  a  pint.  Now  look  at  t'  other  ones's  ears  ;  why 
they  ain't  bigger  than  a  penny,  an'  they  hiy  as  close  to  his 
head  as  hyesters.  I  like  to  see  a  boy  what 's  got  a  pair 
of  ears  on  him  that  are  ears,  like  Joe's ;  an'  a  good  back 
to  his  'e'd,  an'  a  good  solid  pair  o'  jaws,  like  his  young 
brother  here  has  got.  He  's  two  years  younger  than  that 
mother-coddle,  an'  he  'd  go  an'  beat  his  'e'd  off  at  buyin' 
or  sellin',  or  fightin',  or  anythin'.  But  don't  you  trouble 
about  him,  mister.  Bein'  out  o'  work,  I  got  lots  of  time 
on  my  hands  to  bring  him  up  properly,  an'  I  '11  cure  him 
if  there  's  any  curin'  of  him  at  all.     Where  is  he  ? " 

But  behind  the  cover  of  his  mother's  skirts  poor  Bill  has 
escaped  out  of  the  kitchen.  Under  the  circumstances  the 
best  I  could  do  was  to  present  a  small  peace-offering  to  the 
offended  father,  and  exact  from  him  a  promise  that  the  boy 
should  not  only  be  permitted  to  go  to  bed  unbeaten,  })ut 
that  he  should  have  some  supj^er.  When  I  reached  the 
street  I  looked  about  for  Bill,  but  he,  probably,  had  no  faith 
in  friendship  such  as  mine,  and  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

LK^TS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Boys'  Noses.  —  Pan-ots  ancl  Pugs  Predominate. —  "Arabs'"  Costumes.  —  The  Truant 
Scholar.  —  Mr.  Spurgeou  and  the  Oi-plian.  —  Not  Enough  of  Dirt  to  Make  a  Min- 
ister.—  Deacon  Day,  the  Cooper. — How  to  Manage  Hot  Soup.  —  "A  Home  for 
Pups."  —  How  to  Discover  a  Pickpocket.  —  "  Tlie  Finn's  Busted."  —  How  to 
Manage  Incorrigibles.  —  A  New  Yoi-k  Venerable  Atom. —  "Wee  Davy."  —  Davy 
a  Bore.  —  Davy  and  his  Grandmother.  —  Tlie  Doctor's  Sermon  to  Davy.  —  The 
Train  and  the  Ticket.  —  Davy  Dying.  —  Davy's  Saviour.  —  Poem  on  Outcast  AVaif s. 

rpHERE  is  ci  ludicrous  side  to  "  Arab  "  life ;  they  furnish 
rare  examples  of  quaint  humor.  Did  you  ever  observe 
boys'  noses?  I  have  fre([uently  found  it  restful  to  a  tired 
brain  or  a  weary  body  to  do  so.  It  is  cheap  amusement  and 
very  entertaining.  The  nose  indicates  character  and  temper- 
ament. One  hour  in  the  parks,  or  strolling  through  '"  Arab  *' 
neighborhoods,  with  oioses  in  your  ei/e.,  Avill  satisfy  you  that 
there  is  a  greater  variety  of  that  useful  organ  than  is  lirst 
supposed.  Noses  are  of  different  shapes  and  sizes.  Birds 
and  animals  furnish  the  models.  Parrots  and  pugs  predom- 
inate. Little  pinched  faces  look  weary  as  if  overloaded  with 
their  great  beaks ;  others  with  round  swelling  countenances 
look  strangely  odd,  with  a  nose  like  a  marble  glued  on.  Some 
noses  are  pert  and  waggish  :  the}^  look  you  straight  in  the 
face ;  others  are  downcast  and  modest,  as  if  apologizing  for 
size ;  others  still  seem  inquisitive  as  they  look  around  the 
corner  of  their  neighboring  cheek,  while  not  a  few  are  as 
perfect  in  mould  as  the  faultless  Greek  nose. 

Another  line  of  study  takes  in  "Arabs'"  costumes.  Here 
we  have  diversity,  if  not  unity.  A  telegraph-boy  who  had 
angered  a  ragged  juvenile,  was  told  that  "the  Company  gives 
you  your  togs  ;  I  buys  my  own,  I  does."  To  Avhich  telegraph 
queried :  "  Does  you  buy  them  in  the  lump  or  by  the  piece  ?  " 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  135 

With  some  of  these  poor  chiklren  Fashion  quarreled  and  took 
her  departure.  When  we  consider  their  circumstances  we  do 
not  wonder  at  their  rags.  A  poor  boy  once  saved  a  gentle- 
man from  drowning.  Full  of  generous  intentions  he  asked 
the  lad  what  he  could  do  for  him.  "  Speak  a  kind  word 
to  me  sometimes,"  replied  the  boy.  ''I  ain't  got  a  mother 
like  some  of  them." 

A  policeman  came  to  report  a  truant  scholar  named  Jerry, 
to  the  teacher,  and  then  take  him  away  to  the  lock-up.  "■  I 
must  take  this  boy  to  the  lock-up,"  said  the  officer,  after 
talking  a  few  minutes  with  the  teacher. 

Jerry's  white  face  grew  whiter,  and  he  clasped  his  hands 
in  utter  distress.  "  Oh,  don't  take  me  there  !  "  he  said,  and 
the  tears  rolled  down  his  face.  "  I  never  had  anybody  to 
tell  me  how  to  be  good ;  I  never  had  any  bringin'  up ; 
nobody  ever  cared  for  me.  Oh,  teacher  !  I  'd  be  like  other 
boys,  but  nobody  ever  showed  me  how." 

Mr.  Spurgeon  relates  the  following  anecdote  of  the  artless- 
ness  of  childhood  :  "•  At  my  Orphanage  some  time  ago  I  was 
sitting  on  a  seat,  watching  the  children  at  play.  A  little 
boy  came  and  asked  to  sit  beside  me.  1  lifted  him  up,  and 
then  he  said :  '  Now,  Mr.  Spurgeon,  listen  to  me.  Suppose 
there  was  a  "  horphanage,"  and  there  was  a  lot  of  little  boys 
there,  and  suppose  those  little  boys  had  all  lost  their  fathers, 
and  suppose  once  a  month  their  mothers  came,  and  their 
aunts,  and  brought  ^them  pennies,  and  apples,  and  oranges, 
and  nice  things,  and  suppose  there  was  a  little  boy  that  had 
got  no  mother,  nor  aunt,  nor  anybody  to  come  and  see  him, 
don't  you  think  somebody  ought  to  give  him  sixpence? 
'Cause,  Mr.  Spurgeon,  that 's  me.'  "  * 

*For  a  full  account  of  Mr.  Spurgeon's  Orphanage,  see  "Life  and  Labors  of  C.  H. 
Spurgeon,"  by  George  C.  Needham.  700  pages;  45  illustrations.  Published  by  D.  L. 
Guernsey,  61  Cornhill,  Boston,  Mass. 


136  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

What  pliilos(;pliic  insight  into  the  inquisitiveness  of  our 
nature  must  he  have  had  who  proposed  this  bargain  :  "  Bob, 
if  you  give  me  a  hunk  of  your  bread,  I  '11  show  you  my  sore 
toe." 

When  a  boy  stole  something,  and  having  been  detected 
was  asked :  ''  Did  you  not  know  that  God  would  see  you  ?  " 
he  made  for  reply,  "  I  grabbed  quick." 

A  country  boy  was  found  on  the  roadside  playing  A\'ith 
mud.     A  clergyman  asked  him  :  — 

"What  are  you  doing ? " 

^  Makin'  a  church." 

"  But  where  's  the  steeple  ?  " 

"  There." 

''  Where  's  the  pulpit  ?  " 

"  There." 

Then  thinking  he  had  him  cornered,  queried  :  — 

"  But  where  's  the  parson  ? "  To  which  the  young  one 
replied  with  a  sober  face,  ''  O,  I  had  n't  enough  of  dirt  to 
make  him." 

We  fear  lie  had  little  reverence  for  the  cloth. 

Little  Anna,  when  a  clergyman  was  visiting  the  family, 
watched  him  closely  for  a  time  and  finally  sat  down  beside 
him  and  began  to  draw  on  her  slate.  When  asked  what  she 
was  doing,  replied  :  "  Ise  makin'  your  picture."  The  gentle- 
man sat  quietly  and  she  worked  away  for  a  while  quite 
earnestly.  At  length  she  stopped  and,  comparing  her  work 
with  the  original,  shook  her  little  head,  and  said :  — 

"I  don't  like  it  much.  "T ain't  a  good  deal  like  you.  I 
dess  I  '11  put  a  tail  to  it  an'  call  it  a  dog." 

When  asked  how  he  was  getting  along  in  school,  an 
"  Arab  "  replied  :  — 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 


13T 


"  O,  very  well ;  1  "ve  got  so  I  can  turn  a  somerset  without 
touchin'  the  ground  with  my  head,  an'  I  can  walk  on  my 
hands." 

"  You  had  better  ask  for  manners  than  for  money,"  said 
a  snob  to  a  beggar-boy.  "■  I  asked  for  wliat  I  thought  you 
had  most  of,"  was  the  quick  rejoinder. 


Deacon  Day,  of  New  Hampshire,  was  a  cooper.  One 
Sunday  he  heard  the  boys  playing  and  making  quite  a  dis- 
turbance in  front  of  his  house  and  he  went  to  quiet  them. 
When  he  appeared  he  said  :  "  Boys,  do  you  know  what  day 
this  is  ?  "  "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  one  of  the  boys,  "it  is  Deacon 
Day,  the  cooper." 


138  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTEIi  SNIPES. 

A  little  boy  was  asked:  "If  a  man  should  give  you  a 
liundred  dollars,  would  you  pray  for  him  ? "  His  reply 
evinced  more  honesty  of  feeling  and  purpose  than  most 
peojjle  are  willing  to  express,  when  he  said :  "  No,  but  I 
would  pray  for  another  just  like  him." 

A  number  of  Arabs  were  provided  with  dinner  by  some 
Christian  ladies. 

Decidedly  the  stew  was  hot. 

"You  are  a-gobblin'  of  it  up,  you  are,  Joey,"  remarked 
one  quick,  red-headed  boy  to  his  next  neighbor.  "  You  '11 
be  as  sorry  for  it  as  I  was  last  time  if  you  don't  watch  it." 

"  'Ow  was  that  ?  "  inquired  a,  muffled  voice. 

"  Why,  I  burnt  my  tongue  that  bad  that  I  could  n"t  do 
more  'n  a  couple  of  basinsful  arterwards.  You  take  it  cool, 
like  I  do,  Joey.  You'll  put  away  more  of  it  in  the  end, 
I  '11  lay  a  penny." 

Taking  it  cool,  taking  it  hot,  the  ragged  yonng  trencher- 
men certainly  did  "  put  away  "  such  an  enormous  quantity 
that  in  many  cases  it  bewildered  one  to  understand  where 
the}^  stowed  it  all,  especially  as  there  were  no  outward  visible 
signs  of  their  filling  out.  To  be  sure,  as  the  vessels  were 
filled  and  emjjtied  and  fille'd  again,  there  were  heard  murmur- 
ing conq)laints  respecting  elbow  room,  and  there  was  a  gen- 
er^  demand  from  everybody  to  everybody  else  that  he 
should  "get  up  furder  an'  not  scrouge  so." 

But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  evidence  of  a  happy 
chano-e  afforded  bv  their  faces.     The  hawk-like  look  of  the 

o 

eyes  of  mere  babies  was  softened,  and  they  seemed,  somehow, 
to  have  grown  much  too  young  to  partake  of  such  strong 
food  as  Irish  stew,  till  one  wondered  to  see  them  there : 
while  the  elder  boys  and  girls  at  length  found  time  to  talk 
with  each  other  and  toy  with  their  spoons.  There  were 
many,  however,  who  still  stuck  to   their  work,  and  with  a 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 


139 


motive.  Their  eyes  frequently  wandered  to  tlie  clock,  and 
they  knew  that  the  precious  moments  were  flying,  and  that 
presently  they  would  hear  the  sound  of  the  bell  announcing 
the  commencement  of  the  religious  exercises  for  which  they 
had  not  the  like  relish. 


TAKEN    FROM    LIFE. 


Two  bright-eyed  boys  wliose  best  clothing  was  a  ludicrous 
conglomeration  of  many-colored  rags,  were  seen  looking  at 
a  "Home  for  Lost  Dogs,"  in  evident  surprise.  One  of 
them,  who  had  been  to  the  Ragged  School,  spelled  out  the 


140       STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUT  TEE  SXIPES. 

title  for  the  benefit  of  his  companion.  "  Hillo,"  said  he, 
"just  think  o'  that.  What  d'ye  say  to  it,  Bill?  Why,  if 
it  ain't  a  home  for  pups  !  Think  o'  people  gi"\dn'  a  grand 
place  like  that  for  lost  dawgs.  I  expect  they  have  a  fine  time 
of  it  inside  an'  plenty  o'  grub.  I  won'er  why  they  don't 
think  o'  havin'  a  home  for  poor  chaps  like  us.  I  think  if 
they  'ad  I  'd  apply  for  a  sitivation."  If  poor  chaps  were 
treated  with  a  tithe  of  the  consideration  that  some  dogs 
have  shown  them,  it  would  be  a  reform  of  manners  most 
needful.  We  regard  some  women  utterly  insane  and  heart- 
lessly cruel  in  their  care  of  dogs  and  neglect  of  children. 

Those  who  are  brought  into  constant  contact  with  street- 
boys  can  by  a  few  questions  detect  a  thief. 

A  lad,  tliirteen  years  of  age,  once  expressed  a  desire  to 
be  put  in  a  way  of  reformation.  From  the  appearances  and 
behavior  of  the  applicant,  he  was  supposed  to  be  a  thief  of 
some  experience,  both  in  the  art  of  pilfering  and  in  the 
imprisonment  which  is  its  result.  "  Have  you  ever  been 
in  2)rison,  my  lad  ?  "  asked  the  missi(jnarv.  "  Never  in  my 
life,  sir,"'  he  immediately  replied.  "Hold  out  your  arm," 
continued  the  examiner,  certain  that  what  he  heard  was 
deliberate  falsehood.  A  trained  pickpocket,  when  suddenly 
called  on  to  stretch  forth  his  hand,  will,  if  he  suspect  no 
motive,  act  quite  differently  from  an  untrained  person.  For 
instance,  our  missionary  says:  "If  a  boy  is  a  pickpocket, 
on  being  told  to  put  out  his  hand  he  does  so  quickly,  with  his 
fingers  straight,  and  generally  with  his  first  two  fingers 
together  ;  but  if  he  is  not  a  pickpocket,  he  raises  his  hand 
clumsily,  close  to  his  body,  with  his  fingers  bent.''  Thus  the 
manner  of  this  boy  discovered  him  to  be  a  practical  thief. 
"Turn  round,  my  lad,"  being  the  next  order,  the  young 
sinner's  movements  betrayed  his  acquaintance  with  prison- 
drill.     This  last  piece  of  evidence  was  perfectly  conclusive. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  141 

*'  You  have  been  in  prison,"  cried  the  missionary.  "  Upon  my 
honor,  1  have  never  seen  the  inside  of  a  prison  in  my  life," 
still  protested  the  lioy.  How  can  truth  be  drawn  from  such 
strongholds  of  deceit?  This  is  a  question  which  few  can 
properly  answer.  A  lady  happened  to  be  present,  having 
called  to  inquire  about  the  work  among  thieves.  "  You 
may  be  wrong,  sir,"  said  this  visitor,  pitying  the  boy.  "  I 
dare  venture  anything  I  am  correct,"  answered  the  other. 
*'  Still  I  shall  have  pleasure  in  leaving  him  in  your  hands, 
and  j)erhaps  he  will  confess  to  you  the  truth."  The  lady 
tried  every  winning  feminine  art  to  elicit  the  truth,  and 
still  came  protestations  of  never  having  entered  a  prison. 
But  the  evangelist  knew  of  a  potent  plan  as  yet  untried. 
"  My  boy,"  he  said,  ^  I  have  children  of  my  own ;  kneel 
down,  I  will  pray  for  you."  The  three  went  down  on  their 
knees,  and  a  prayer  followed,  faithful  and  earnest.  The  boy 
was  conquered.  On  rising  he  was  observed  to  be  in  tears, 
and  he  confessed  having  been  imprisoned  frequently  for 
several  misdemeanors. 

A  little  boy  applied  to  General  Clinton  B.  Fisk  for  capital 
to  go  into  business.  Amount  wanted,  seventy-five  cents ; 
business,  boot-blacking;  station,  near  Fulton  Ferry,  New 
York.  Profits  to  be  divided  at  the  end  of  six  months.  The 
arrangement  was  made  and  the  firm  began  business.  One 
Monday  morning,  however,  the  "  working  partner "  came 
into  the  General's  office,  wearing  a  very  lugubrious  counte- 
nance. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  General. 

"  O,"  said  the  boy,  "it's  all  up!  " 

"  All  up  !  "  said  the  General.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  O,"  said  the  boy,  "  the  firm  's  '  busted  ' !  " 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  was  the  inquiry. 

"Well,"  said  the  boy,  "I  had  four  dollars  an'  sixty-two 


142 


STREET  ARABS  AND  G  UTTER  SNIPES. 


cents  on    liaud  ;    yestevdav  a  man    came    into  our    Sunday- 
school,  an*  said  we  nnist  give  all  our  money  to  the  Mission-, 
aiy    SocietN,  an'   I   i)ut   it   all  in.     Couldn't  hel[)  it;  an' it 's 
all  uj)  with  us." 

The  writer  of  this  story  adds  :  — 

"We  have  no  (U)ubt  the  firm  immediately  'resumed'  busi- 
ness.    But  it  isthe.tirst  partnership  we  have  heard  of  that 

has  been  '  busted '  in  that 
way.  Hence  our  extreme 
sympathy.  As  years  passed 
on,  the  'working  partner' 
became  a-  man;  and  we 
have  been  informed  by  the 
'  special  i)artner  '  that  this 
'  working  partner  '  is  now 
in  Chicago  at  the  head  of  a 
profitable  mercantile  busi- 
ness on  his  own  account." 


Cases  are  frequent  before 
magistrates  of  the  despair 
of  parents  as  well  as  of 
others  in  dealing  with  re- 


fractcny  and  criminal  chil- 
dren.    The  following  case  was  stated  in  a  city  i)aper:  — 

As  long  as  there  is  no  human-  Rarey,  what  is  one  to  do 
with  a  boy  of  this  sort?  He  is  aged  eight,  he  is  a  liar  and 
a  thief,  has  attempted  to  set  tire  to  his  house  two  or  three 
times,  has  been  turned  out  of  several  schools,  killed  a  cat 
and  parrot,  and  is  most  incorrigible ;  beating  has  no  effect 
on  him,  his  motlier  and  relatives  are  afraid  of  him,  and  no 
one  can  control  him.  Such  is  the  problem  placed  before  the 
justice  by  an  anxious  mother.  The  officer,  however,  could 
not   answer   the   question,   and    merely   suggested   beating. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHAD  0 1  VS.  143 

beating,  and  again  beating :  bnt  meanwhile  the  unliappy 
parent  is  wandering  wliat  will  become  of  the  boy.  Perhaps 
a  ^A'eek  or  so  on  a  lishing-smaek  would  have  some  moral 
effect  on  him,  or  he  might  be  turned  loose  in  one  of  the  vast 
deserts  in  Patagonia,  or  the  Sahara,  or  Gobi,  without  much 
danger  to  any  one  but  himself,  and  give  full  vent  to  his 
juvenile  ferocity. 

It  elicited  the  subjoined  reply  from  tlie  superintendent 
of  the  district  half-time  school :  — 

There  needs  no  human  Rarey  to  deal  with  a  boy  of  this 
sort.  Place  him  in  better  surrotindings,  give  him  no  time 
to  steal,  ask  him  no  questions  for  some  time,  and  his  habits 
of  lying  and  stealing  will  die  a  natural  death,  much  quicker 
than  by  any  amount  of  beating.  Quite  lately  I  had  a  boy 
with  an  inveterate  habit  of  getting  up  in  the  nighttime  and 
stealing  from  the  clothes  of  his  sclioolfellows  who  slept  in 
the  same  dormitory.  I  put  him  through  an  extra  course 
of  gymnastics  before  going  to  bed,  and  tired  nature  improved 
his  moral  nature.  My  remedy  for  a  bad  habit  is  to  fill  up 
a  boy's  waking  time  with  thoughts  and  actions  of  as  pleasant 
a  nature  as  possible,  and  with  such  a  genial  supervisor  that 
the  delight  he  takes  in  his  new  life  leaves  no  room  for  his 
old  life,  and  then  send  him  to  bed  too  tired  to  talk  or  do 
anything  but  go  to  sleep.  Constant  employment  of  time 
made  as  pleasant  as  possible  never  fails  to  alter  and  improve 
what  are  called  incorrigible  boys. 

At  the  Battery  in  New  York  I  was  hailed  by  a  news- 
boy :  "  Star.  Telegraph,  Star ;  paper,  sir !  *"  It  Avas  nine 
o'clock  at  night,  and  as  I  reached  for  the  paper  and  passed 
the  change,  I  was  struck  with  the  dwarfishness  of  the  boy 
before  me.  How  can  I  describe  him  ?  Small,  fragile, 
pert,  ragged,  cold,  wet  (it  was  raining),  imptident,  though 
responsive  to  a  kindly  word.     '•  How  old  are  you.  Bob  ?  '* 


M4  STBEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

was  my  query.  "  Six  years,"  replied  the  venerable  atom, 
perfectly  indifferent,  as  he  was  then  counting  his  pennies 
and  making  up  the  returns  t)f  the  day.  "  How  much  have 
you  made  this  evening  ! '"  "Nine  cents — 'tis  a  bad  evenin' 
for  business  —  rainin'."  ''What  profit  do  you  make  on  your 
papers  ?  "  "  We  gets  half."  There  was  some  more  common- 
place talk  between  us.  The  size  and  age  and  bearing  of  that 
veteran  infant  haunted  me,  and  in  my  comfortable  room 
ill  the  house  of  a  friend  the  wee,  wet,  wan-faced  child  of 
six  trying  to  earn  his  bread  and  compete  with  the  rough 
newsboy  companions  could  not  be  easily  forgotten. 

My  New  York  acquaintance  reminded  me  of  "Wee  Davy," 
.about  whom  another  has  sweetly  written :  — 

He  was  so  small,  so  ragged,  so  altogether  illconditioned 
looking,  that  it  seemed  a  doubtful  experiment  to  bring  him 
into  the  house,  and  attempt  to  train  him  as  a  servant ! 

Yet,  as  he  stood  every  afternoon  by  the  side  of  the  carriage 
that  waited  at  the  station  —  stood,  with  one  foot  on  the  step, 
and  seemed  almost  inclined  to  get  in.,  in  his  eagerness  to  sell 
a  paper,  or  run  an  errand,  there  was  something  very  beseech- 
ing and  touching  in  his  look.  He  was  only  one,  out  of  a 
number  of  waifs  and  strays,  who  spent  hours  at  the  station, 
on  the  chance  of  some  errand,  who,  at  the  slightest 
encouragement  fly  wildly  about  to  do  anything  or  every- 
thing for  tlie  sake  of  a  penny.  But  in  "Wee  Davy"  there 
was  something  that  singled  him  out  from  the  crowd  and 
made  him  an  object  of  pity.  This  something  resulted  in 
a  proposition  being  made  that  he  should  come  and  live  at 
what  he  called  the  "  big  house,"  and  learn  to  be  a  servant. 
Perhaps  by-and-by  be  promoted  to  cleaning  the  carriage, 
on  whose  steps  he  hung  so  often. 

But  Davy  dependent  on  himself  and  his  own  powers 
of    persuasion  as    a  beggar  was    quite  another  person  from 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  145 

Davy  installed  iu  the  "big  house"  and  earning  regular 
wages. 

As  a  domestic  he  proved  an  utter  failure.  Alert,  quick, 
civil,  and  obliging  before,  he  became  nothing  better  than 
a  disobedient  specimen  of  an  unreformed  street  "Arab."  So, 
very  shortly,  Davy  found  himself  back  at  the  station,  calling 
his  papers  again. 

A  little  disheartened,  his  friends  felt  inclined  to  exclaim : 
"  What  is  the  use  of  trying  !  " 

Yet  there  was  use.  And  now  we  know  that  even  in  that 
brief  service  there  Avas  a  purpose,  and  a  training  for  some- 
thing better  than  earthly  advancement  was  in  store  for 
Davy. 

Every  one  in  the  house  voted  Davy  a  bore,  and  more 
plague  than  profit.  One  little  girl  excepted,  and  she  held 
out  a  helping  hand  to  the  boy.  As  long  as  he  remained 
in  the  house,  she  brought  him  every  evening  into  the  dining- 
room  to  teach  him  first  his  letters,  and  then  to  read.  So 
that  when  Davy  left  he  could  slowly  spell  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible.  This  was  the  use  of  his  service  in  that  house,  and 
this  the  first  step  in  God's  own  training. 

A  few  months  afterward,  we  heard  that  Davy  was  ill  and 
not  going  to  get  better.  At  first  he  tried  to  keep  up,  and 
in  the  autumn  days  would  steal  out  as  far  as  the  end  of  the 
street,  watching  with  grave,  quiet  eyes  the  busy  passing  to 
and  fro,  and  the  daily  occupation  in  which  he  would  not 
take  a  part  again. 

The  boys  ran  past  with  their  papers  under  their  arms,  to 
the  old  stand  on  the  station  platform.  Then  came  back 
some  of  the  fortunate  ones  carrying  parcels  and  light  lug- 
gage ;  others  merrily  swinging  on  the  backs  of  carriages  and 
carts,  or  chasing  one  another  down  the  street.  All  things 
went  on  the  same  ;  he  did  not  seem  missed.  No  one  paused 
to  ask  how  he  was.     No  one  cared  !     With  a  sigh  he  turned 


146  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

back  from  the  street-corner  —  it  was  not  much  use  to  go 
there.  He  grew  weaker  and  moved  about  less,  until  at  last 
he  spent  all  day  in  the  low,  dark  room  of  his  home,  looking 
into  the  fire,  and  reading,  half  sadly,  half  stupidly. 

Opposite  to  him  sat  his  old  grandmother,  nodding  and 
dreaming ;  trying  to  get  some  warmth  from  the  fire  which 
was  never  too  cheerful.  A  dismal  pair  they  looked  !  Life 
was  dreary  work  now  to  either.  Side  by  side  they  were 
both  drifting  on.  Out  of  this  world  soon  —  but  ivhere? 
That,  the}'  could  not  tell,  and  hardly  seemed  to  care. 

"  Davy  you  can  read  nicely  now,  can't  you  ?  " 

A  flicker  of  brightness  over  the  dull  face,  then  gloom 
again. 

"  Ain't  no  books  here." 

"  No  Bible  ?  " 

A  shake  of  the  head. 

'^Only  a  Tes'ment." 

"  I  should  think  only  a  Testament  was  a  great  deal ;  but 
if  I  send  j^ou  a  ince  Bible,  with  big  print,  could  you  not  read 
a  little  every  day  to  your  grandmother  ?" 

The  brightness  spread  over  his  face,  and  Davy  looked  up 
with  some  interest. 

"Aye,  that  I  coidd  nicely." 

So  the  Bible  came,  and  every  day  Davy  read  aloud ;  the 
old  woman  sitting  close  to  him,  bending  her  deaf  ears  to 
catch  every  word. 

Day  by  day,  and  maiiy  times  a  day,  the  life-giving  words 
were  uttered.  Words  that,  through  all  her  long  eighty  years, 
she  had  never  heeded  before.  Surely  the  seed  took  some 
root  ?  We  cainiot  tell ;  she  was  too  old  and  feeble  for  much 
utterance.  Only,  sometimes,  at  the  sweet  sound  of  the 
gospel  story,  tears  would  slowly  fall  from  the  dim  and  almost 
sightless  eyes,  which  had  long  since  ceased  to  weep  at  any 
earthly  news. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  147 

By  slow  degrees  the  light  of  God's  truth  began  to  make 
its  way  into  Davy's  heart.  As  he  became  certain  that  a  few 
weeks,  more  or  less,  was  all  he  had  before  liim  to  live,  he 
became  more  and  more  uncertain  where  he  should  spend 
eternity.  The  dissatisfied  doubt  increased,  until  it  became 
a  great  dread. 

Every  day  the  unanswered  (question  was,  ^  Where  are  you 
going?" 

Late  one  evening  the  doctor  called.  Davy  told  him  all 
his  pains  and  weakness.  There  was  no  need  to  tell  much; 
any  one  Avho  looked  on  the  little  shattered  frame  would  see 
how  it  was.  A  few  questions  sufficed.  Then  came  the  ever- 
recurring,  unanswered  one,  "Davy  where  are  you  going?" 

Poor  Davy  did  not  knowi  He  did  not  see  how  he  could 
have  "  any  right "  to  go  to  heaven.  He  Avas  quite  sure  Jesus 
died  for  sinners ;  but  there  was  a  vagueness  in  the  l)elief 
that  made  him  feel  insecure  and  quite  prevented  him  being- 
able  to  reply  with  any  comfort. 

"  Davy,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you  know  a  good  deal  about 
the  station  where  you  used  to  sell  the  papers,  and  you  can 
tell  me  if  I  am  right  or  wrong  when  I  describe  to  you  the 
way  a  person  goes  from  this  place  to  the  city  ?  " 

Davy  nodded.     O,  yes,  he  knew  all  about  that. 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  suppose  that  some  one  wants  to  go 
to  the  city  —  yourself  for  instance.  The  distance  is  too  far 
for  you  to  walk  there,  so  you  go  to  the  station.  The  plat- 
form is  crowded.  People  are  bustling  about.  The  train  is 
coming,  and  will  take  any  one  who  wishes  to  go  to  the  city. 
You  wish  to  go  (as  you  wish  to  go  to  heaven,  Davy),  and 
you  come  up  and  mingle  with  the  throng. 

"•  But  they  are  not  all  going  by  the  train.  Some  will  stay 
behind  on  the  platform  when  it  leaves.  People  who  came 
to  see  their  friends  off,  porters,  newspaper-boys,  such  as  you 
were,  a  great  many  will  be   left   behind.     Why?     Because 


148  STIIEET  AEABS  AND  GUTTElt  SXIPES. 

they  do  not  want  to  go  by  the  train.  There  are  hundreds 
not  on  the  i-oad  to  heaven,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  do 
not  want  to  go. 

"  But,  in  this  case,  you  do  want  to  go,  and  you  hasten 
into  the  ticket-office.  You  know  you  could  not  go  without 
a  ticket.  It  would  be  folly  to  seat  yourself  in  the  train 
without  it.  Soon  a  conductor  would  come  and  ask  you  to 
show  it,  and  it  would  be  useless  to  say,  '  O,  it 's  all  right,  I 
paid  my  money,  but  I  didn't  take  a  ticket;'  or  'I  will  pay  at 
the  end.'  A  poor  little  boy  in  a  ragged  coat,  indeed.  The 
conductor  Avould  make  you  get  out  again  and  would  s;;y, 
'  You  have  no  right  to  travel  without  a  ticket  —  the 
company's  rules  are  that  you  must  have  one.'  It  is  their 
guaranty  that  the  money  is  jiaid.  It  is  their  word  the 
conductor  goes  by,  not  yours.  You  know  this,  and  take  up 
your  ticket,  and  then  your  place.  There  is  no  hesitation 
in  the  matter  ;    3^ou  have  a  right  there  now. 

"Is  this  the  case,  Davy?" 

He  nodded  again,  and  the  doctor  continued  :  — 

"See  how  like  this  is  to  your  soul's  need.  You  want  to  go 
to  heaven,  but  God  has  shown  you  that  you  are  a  sinful  boy 
and  cannot  go  there  by  any  effort  of  your  own.  Therefore 
he  has  provided  a  way  and  can  take  you  to  heaven  as  the 
train  can  take  you  to  the  city. 

"  You  know  the  line  was  laid,  the  station  built,  the  train 
provided,  and  all  things  made  ready,  before  passengers  were 
invited  to  travel  that  way. 

"God's  message  is,  '  Come,  for  all  things  are  now  ready; ' 
and  the  more  you  attend  to  that  voice  the  more  you  will  see 
that  '  Jesus  is  all  things '  to  you.  He  is  the  one  that  takes 
you  to  heaven,  and  he  is  himself  the  way  there.  He  is  the 
one  that  gives  you  your  ticket,  without  which  you  cannot  go 
there,  but  he  takes  no  payment  for  it.  It  is  '  without  money 
and  without  price.'     On  it  is  written  '  free  pardon.'     It  cost 


SUMMONED    AWAY. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADO  WS.  151 

him  much  to  purchase  it  for  you.  Much  time,  much  pain, 
much  love  —  it  cost  his  life.  It  is  Christ's  Avork,  not  yours, 
that  God  looks  at.  His  payment  procures  for  you  the 
forgiveness  of  your  sins  and  a  right  to  go  to  heaven. 

"  Now,  listen,  Davy  !  You  know  I  told  you  the  conductor 
would  not  let  a  ragged  little  boy  go  in  the  train,  and  promise 
to  pay  at  the  end.  There  must  be  no  debt  between  you 
and  God  when  you  start  heavenward !  How  many  people 
think  that  it  is  at  the  end  they  pay,  and  that  God  will 
require  then  something  at  their  hands,  and  they  are  always 
trying  to  do  something  towards  that  settling  time.  There  is 
no  such  thing.  '  Jesus  paid  it  all,  long  ago.'  With  your 
passport  of  forgiveness  you  are  safe  in  him.  You  lean  back 
at  rest.  No  effort,  no  toil,  no  anxiety,  and,  Davy,  no  douht 
either.  The  next  time  a  friend  says,  'Where  are  you  going?' 
will  3"ou  not  say,  with  confidence,  'To  heaven.'  If  asked, 
'  Have  you  a  ticket  ?  '  '  Yes,  indeed,  a  red  and  white  one  I 
Red,  with  precious  blood  that  was  shed  for  me ;  and  white, 
for  he  washed  my  sins  as  white  as  snow.'  " 

Those  words  did  Davy  more  good  than  anything  else 
which  had  been  said  to  him. 

He  thought  of  them  in  the  silence  of  the  night  after  the 
Doctor  had  gone  ;  and  the  light  which  dawned,  shone  clearly 
now  over  his  soul. 

The  next  day  when  "  his  lady  "  called  to  see  him,  and 
asked  him  anxiously  again  that  question  (for  she  saw  how 
near  death  was  now)  :  "  Davy,  do  you  know  where  you  are 
going  ?  "  he  answered,  — • 

"Yes." 

"  Too  weak  for  much  talking,"  he  only  added.  He  said, 
"  Jesus  will  wash  me  Avhite  as  snow." 

He  looked  so  content  and  so  peaceful,  even  in  the  midst 
of  great  pain,  that  she  could  not  doubt  the  peace  he  had 
found. 


152  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

"  Shall  I  sing  you  a  verse  of  the  hymn  yon  learnt  for  me, 
Davy?" 

He  looked  up  with  a  glad  smile  of  assent. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  our  Father  in  heaven 
Tells  of  his  love  in  the  book  he  has  given, 
Wonderful  things  in  the  Bible  I  see, 
This  is  the  dearest,  that  Jesus  loves  me."' 

It  meant  something  now.  It  was  more  than  a  pretty  tune 
and  sweet  words.  It  was  a  reality.  "  Jesus  loves  me."' 
He  was  really  Davy's  Saviour. 

Two  days  after  this  the  summons  came  and  Davy  left 
this  world. 

He  was  gone.     O,  how  well  that  he  now  knew  where  I 

'•  Lo !    side  by  side  with  the  halls   of  pride   are  the  haunts  of  want 

and  sorrow; 
Where    the    gathering  shadows   are   dark   with   fear   for   the   need   of 

the  coming  Tuorrow ; 
Where  the    struggling  weak   one  toils   and   sighs,  wliile  the  stronger 

tights  and  scrambles, 
And    the    child    must   steal    for    his   daily  bread,    while    his    drunken 

father  gambles. 

"Oh I  pass  not  by  with  a  shuddering  sigh  or  a  cold,  half-hearted 
pity ; 

There  are  souls  to  win  for  the  Saviour's  crown  from  these  slums 
of  the  surging  city ; 

Poor  outcast  waifs — yet  beneath  their  rags  is  often  a  warm  lieart 
beating ; 

And  the  lore  that  acts  from  the  rudest  lips  wins  often  a  heart- 
warm  greeting. 

•'  Go,  gather  them  in  with  a  heart  that  owns  each  suffering   soul   for 

neighbor ; 
To  the   school  —  to   the  home  —  to  the  frugal   feast  that  is  earned  by 

honest  labor; 
To    the    Saviour's    feet  —  to    the   place    of    prayer  —  to   the   sound  of 

the  'sweet  old  story,' 
Of  the  Lord  who   came  to   the   cross   of  shame,  that  the  lost  might 

rise  to  glory!  *" 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

WOMAN    TO    THE    RESCUE. 

Women  Philanthropists.  —  Female  Novelists.  —  "Too  Dreadful  to  Know  of."  —  Desolat- 
ing Individualism.  — The  Swift  and  Terrible  Nemesis. —  Save  the  Children.  —  The 
Bristol  Plan.  —  How  Five  Thousand  Girls  were  Saved.  —  How  Girls  are  Decoyed.  — 
The  "  Black  Kitten."  —  Best  Methods  of  Reclamation.  —  The  "  Female  Brethren."  — 
The  Dissipated  Old  Bachelor  of  Eight.  —  "All  Progress  Begins  with  a  Sense  of  Sin." 

—  A  Disagreeable   Subject.  —  Sky-high  Christianity.  —  Saving  Soul  and  Body.— 
Spanish  Gypsy  Mothers.  —  The  Old  Thatcher.  —  Experience  of  a  London  Barrister. 

—  Our  Factory  Population.  —  Saint's  Day  and  Sinner's  Day.  —  Free-Lovers  Sowing 
their  Evil  Seed.  —  Self-sacrifice  Demanded. 

/^~^HRISTIAN  women  have  always  been  foremost  in  prac-     y 

tical  philanthrophy.     Qualified  by  nature  to  enter  into      j 
the  deeper  mysteries  of  pain,  and  with  an  instinctive  adapta- 
tion for  comforting  the  sufferer,  their   feet   have    traveled 
further  to  soothe    and   to    save    than    those   of   their  more 
rugged  brothers.     With  a  delicacy  of  touch  and  a  strength     j 
of  nerve  they  prove  themselves  natural  nurses  and  the  best     i 
of  surgeons.     Like  sunbeams  they  penetrate  into  foul  dens,     i 
and   keep    their    purity    unsullied.     Their    presence    in    the    / 
fever-ward   is   as    cold  water   to    a   thirsty   traveler ;    their   / 
smile    charms    away  melancholy  and    their   cheering  words  1 
stimulate  hope.     In  the  battle-field;  in  pestilential  districts  ; 
in  dark  dens  of    infamy.  Christian  ladies  are  met  with  on 
their  errands  of  mercj/. )  The  female  novelists  who  supplant 
reality  with  artificiality ;    who   drug   and   damn   Avith  their 
fatal  sentimentalism,   do  not  represent  the    noble  work  of 
consecrated  women.     It  is  no   abnormal  piety  or  senseless 
faith  which  leads  Christian  women  to  follow  their  Master 
who  went   about   everywhere   doing  good.      There  will    be 
strange  reversals  wlien  he  returns :    those  whom  the  world 
now  applauds  will  be  found  unworthy,  while  huml^le,  per- 
sistent toilers,  whose  lives  are  devoted  to  shield  the  tempted 


154  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

and  save  the  erring,  will  then  hear  his  words  of  commenda- 
tion, "  Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant." 

One  of  the  noble  women  of  our  age  is  Miss  Ellice  Hop- 
kins, whose  exposure  of  female  children's  degradation  is  a 
trumpet-blast  calling  loudly  on  her  sisters  to  follow  her  in 
her  preventive  and  reclamative  efforts  for  the  little  ones. 
Her  special  mission  is  indicated  in  her  own  words :  — 

There  is  a  subject  so  painful,  so  full  of  shame  and  anguish, 
that  one's  first  cowardly  impulse  is  to  hide  it  in  darkness 
and  in  the  silence  of  the  grave,  although  he  who  "knows 
what  is  in  the  darkness  "  is  calling  aloud  to  his  church  to 
face  it  in  the  light.  I  mean  the  terrible  fact  that  the  degra- 
dation of  women  is  rapidly  becoming  the  degradation  of 
children. 

"  ( ),  mother  I "  Mrs.  John  Stuart  Mill's  young  daughter 
used  sometimes  to  exclaim  when  anything  distressing  was 
mentioned,  "  it  is  .too  dreadful  to  know  of !  "  "  My  child," 
she  would  calmly  reply,  "  Avhat  others  have  to  bear,  you  can 
at  least  endure  to  know  of."  If  one  who  did  not  call  herself 
by  the  name  of  Christ  could  utter  those  brave  and  true 
words,  are  strong  Christian  men  and  women  going  to  cry 
that  it  is  too  dreadful  for  them  to  know  what  poor  little 
children  even  liave  to  bear? 

In  one  week,  a  month  or  so  ago,  I  had  to  deal  with  three 
children,  — 

1.  A  child  of  twelve,  who  had  gone  down  into  all  depths  ; 
a  nice  docile  child  now  that  she  is  under  Christian  training. 

2.  A  child  of  nine,  who  had  gone  down  into  all  deptlis, 
and  was  so  fearfully  injured  physically  that,  poor  degraded 
mite,  she  has  never  reached  the  Christian  home  a  friend  of 
mine  provided  for  her. 

3.  A  child  who  was  a  mother,  and  whose  little  baby  lived 
for  half  an  liour. 


WOMAN  TO  THE  BESCUE.  155 

"•  How  has  it  all  come  about  ?  "  do  3-011  cry  ?  Through 
your  neglect  and  my  neglect,  my  brothers,  my  sisters. 
Through  the  self-indulgent  shrinking  from  the  pain  and  the 
shame  of  the  cross  which  has  made  us  refuse  to  face  this 
question.  Through  that  desolating  individualism  which  has 
made  the  central  fact  of  our  Christianity  to  be  personal 
salvation,  saving  our  own  soul,  getting  to  heaven,  instead  of 
what  is  the  central  fact  of  Christianity^  whatever  we  make  it 
out  to  be,  a  life  poured  out  for  the  good  of  the  world  and 
personal  salvation  in  order  to  have  a  life  to  pour  out_^ 
Through  "Tegoisme  a  deux,  a  trois,  a  quatre,"  the  debased 
side  of  the  family  spirit,  which  has  made  us  centre  our 
thoughts  about  ourselves  and  our  own,  and  spread  an  oasis 
of  purity  around  them,  andAhink  we  could  save  our  own 
while  leaving  others  to  perish. "\ 

"  Seest  thou  this  woman  ?  "  But  we  have  not  seen  her. 
We  have  deliberately  shuttered  and  curtained  out  the  sight 
of  her  and  her  anguish  and  degradation.  And  behind  those 
shutters,  behind  that  carefully  drawn  curtain,  with  no 
character  to  earn  her  bread  b}',  she  has  fastened  like  an 
unclean  bird  of  prey  on  our  own  sons  in  the  streets.  Ay, 
we  have  thought  we  could  have  these  poor  murdered  souls 
in  our  midst,  and  we  could  go  on  in  our  comfortable  and 
pious  homes  just  as  we  were  before,  and  God  would  not 
search  it  out.  A  few  of  us,  appalled  at  the  greatness  and 
depth  of  the  evil,  have  stirred,  but  we  have  been  told  that 
''  we  can't  touch  pitch  and  not  be  defiled,"  though  it  seems 
to  me  that  it  is  just  for  the  want  of  this  brave  putting  fttrth 
of  the  hand  against  evil,  for  the  want  of  this  "touching- 
pitch,"  that  the  ark  of  the  church  is  growing  rotten,  that  her 
oaken  thnbers  leak  and  let  in  the  bitter  waters  of  death. 
Men  have  even  looked  us  in  the  face  and  assured  us  that  it 
is  a  "necessary  evil,"  a  necessary  class  in  a  country  like  our 
own   where    marriage   is  necessarily   deferred — a  necessary 


15()  STEEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

thing  that  we  women  shoukl  be  sacrificed  by  thousands  in 
body  and  soul,  and  sunk  below  the  beasts  that  perish  I 

But  God  who  has  made  us,  and  not  we  ourselves,  —  God 
who  has  made  this  poor  darkened  humanit}'  of  ours  in  his  one 
indivisible  image  of  love  —  not  we  ourselves,  with  our  false 
notions,  false  methods,  false  self-indulgence,  false  necessities, 
—  God  is  teaching  us  that  not  the  weakest  member  of  the 
body  can  be  suffered  to  know  corruption  without  the  whole 
body  suffering  loss.  We  think  we  can  say  to  evil,  "  Hitherto 
thou  shalt  come,  but  no  further."  But  he  is  teaching  us 
that  a  neglected  evil,  especially  the  evil  of  pent-up  cities,  is 
essentially  cumulative  in  its  .results,  that  an  accepted  outcast 
class  in  our  midst  brings  its  own  swift  and  terrible  Nemesis. 
He  is  stripping  this  evil  of  all  the  glamour  and  miserable 
sophistry  and  cunningly  wrought  veils  that  have  surrounded 
it,  and  laying  it  bare  in  all  its  hideousness  as  the  base  and 
cowardly  evil  which  accepts  the  sacrifice  of  young  and 
ignorant  girls,  and  before  which  even  a  child  is  not  sacred. 

Of  course  it  has  spread  to  the  children  —  how  could  it  do 
otherwise,  when  we  had  deliberately  left  it  to  breed  ?  The 
children  see  it,  breathe  it,  liear  it,  talk  it,  dream  it,  it  is  going 
on  all  around  them  —  and  how  can  they  escape  from  falling- 
victims  to  the  debased  manhood  it  breeds?  Recently  an 
inspector  found  two  little  girls  —  one  ten,  the  other  twelve, 
lawfully  born  children  —  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night  in  the 
same  bedroom  with  their  abandoned  mother  and  four  men, 
all  five  drunk.  I  ask,  What  chance  have  such  children  as 
these?  What  chance  have  they  but  to  be  what  they  are 
compelled  to  be  ?  I  appeal  to  the  church  of  the  living  God 
to  have  pity  upon  her  little  ones,  whom  she  has  left  without 
one  living  protest,  to  become  the  children  of  the  devil,  the 
members  of  women-wrongers,  and  the  heirs  of  corruption, 
disease,  and  death. 

At  least   I  know  that   I    shall  not  appeal  in  vain  to  my 


W03IAX  TO  THE  HESCUE. 


lb\ 


sister-women.  I  appeal  to  you  by  the  awful  cousecratioii 
God  has  put  on  your  womanhood  —  in  the  fact  of  the  Incar- 
nation consecrating  especially  the  mother,  in  the  woman,  to 
be  in  Him  the  fountain  of  life  and  love  and  purity  —  not  to 


BROTHER  AND  SISTER  WHO  HAVE  BEEN  RESCUED. 

stand  by  supinely  any  longer,  and  see  your  OAvn  womanhood 
sunk  into  degradation,  into  unnatural  uses  —  crimes  against 
nature  that  have  no  analogue  in  the  animal  creation ;  but, 
whatever  it  costs  you,  to  join  the  vast,  silent,  woman's  move- 
ment which  is  setting  in  in  defence  of  our  own  womanhood. 


158  STBELT  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

I  i  I  appeal  to  you  in  the  name  of  the  children,  of  whom  we  as 
women  are  the  natural  guardians,  to  overcome  the  shrinking, 
the  repulsion,  tlie  determined  ignorance,  the  loathing  of  the 
M'hole  subject ;  or  rather  to  turn  them  into  a  cross,  on  which 
you  can_  suffer  and  die  to  yourself  with  Christ  to  i<ave  the 
children.)  I  ask  you  to  renounce  the  purity  of  ignorance, 
and  go  iii  for  a  better  purity  —  the  purity  of  Christ.  We 
women  are  the  great  reserve  force  of  Providence.  We  have 
never  yet  been  brought  into  the  field.  We  have  the  training 
of  the  young.  The  world  has  never  yet  seen  what  we  can 
accomplish  when  once  we  wake  up^  to    the    sense    of    the 

^--J     dignity  of  our  common  womanhood^ 

I  want  you  to  unite  with  me  in  silent  prayer.  Do  not 
talk  about  it ;  pray.  "  There  are  some  who  will  not  anchor 
upon  God  in  a  calm,  and  there  comes  a  great  storm  and  they 
are  wrecked  upon  God."  Pray :  "  That  which  I  see  not, 
teach  thou  me."  Show  him  dumbly  your  hands  and  feet, 
as  he  sliowed  you  Ids,  and  ask  him  to  show  you  liow  you  can 
best  use  them  in  lifting  up  your  own  womanhood  out  of  its 
dust  of  degradation,  in  strengthening  your  sons  to  fight  this 
battle  for  you  (which  is  also  the  battle  of  their  manhood), 
and  in  saving  our  little  children.  Pray :  O,  Lamb  of  God. 
that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world :  Grant  us  in  this 
conflict  thy  peace.  And  by  thine  agony  and  bloody  sweat, 
by  thy  cross  and  passion  :  Good  Lord,  deliver  us. 

'^  I  have  urged  the  necessity  of  procuring  legal  protection 

for  the  young  from  all  attempts  to  lead  them  into  a  dissolute 

life,  and  T  have  also  urged  the  turning  of  the  full  force  of 

oiu'    educational    and    compulsory    reformatory    machinery 

\/     against  the  degradation  of  women. 

But  I  am  aware  that  this  In'  itself  Avill  not  be  sufficient. 

It    must  be    supplemented  by  a  vast  amount  of   voluntary 

agency  and   moral  and    spiritual    influences.      The    mass  of 

\^     the    work    must    l)e  done  by  love,  not  laAv.     We    must    be 


W03IA]^  TO  THE  liESCUE.  ]  59 

content  to  look  after  our  young  girls  a  great  deal  more  than 
we  do  —  ay,  and  use  a  great  deal  more  influence  than  we 
do,  to  get  parents  to  look  after  them  too  ! 

To  begin  with  the  first  point.  I  am  endeavoring  to  intro- 
duce into  all  our  large  towns  —  though  there  is  no  reason 
wh}' it  should  be  conlined  to  large  towns  —  the  systematic 
preventive  plan,  known  as  the  Bristol  plan.  It  consists  of 
a  free  registry  office,  clothing-clulj,  and  careful  yisitation. 
A  small  house  is  taken,  large  enough  to  give  a  room  for  the 
office,  a  small  classroom,  living-rooms  for  the  matron,  and  a 
few  extra  beds,  where  any  respectable  girl  who  has  been 
turned  out  of  doors,  or  is  changing  her  situation,  or  who 
wants  training,  can  l)e  put.  The  matron  should  be  a  strong, 
motherly,  sensible  woman.  She  places  the  young  girls 
applying  out  in  situations,  their  outfits  being  advanced  to 
them,  and  an  arrangement  made  with  the  mistress  that  a 
portion  of  their  wages  should  be  paid  into  the  clothing-club  to 
refund. 

This  works  well  all  round :  the  child  gets  lier  underlinen 
cost  price,  cast-off  clothing  at  a  nominal  price,  the  principle 
of  self-help  being  always  adhered  to,  and  nothing  given ;  if 
the  clothes  are  not  paid  for,  the  mistress  returns  them  to  the 
office,  so  that  the  longing  to  possess  them  for  her  own  is  a 
great  inducement  to  the  girl  to  keep  her  first  place ;  but 
above  all,  the  clothing-club  gives  one  a  good  firm  hold  of 
her.  Her  better  feelings  may  wear  off,  but  her  underlinen 
goes  on,  and  she  is  always  backwards  and  forwards  seeing 
after  her  clothes,  and  is  never  lost  sight  of.  She  is  visited 
once  a  month,  and  a  ledger  is  kept  in  which  the  particulars 
of  every  girl  are  entered ;  and  tlie  child  has  always  her 
matron  to  go  to  in  any  childish  scrape.  This  again  works 
well.  The  mistresses  of  these  rough  little  girls  are  much  in 
the  irresponsible  position  of  a  captain  on  the  high  seas  — 
there  is  no  one  to  interfere,  and  we  all  know  our  poor  human 


160  STUEET  AliABS  AND  aUTTEE  SXIPES. 

nature  cannot  bear  irresponsible  power ;  but  when  tlie 
mistresses  see  a  number  of  ladies  caring  for  these  little  girls, 
they  catch  the  contagious  influence  of  good  example,  and 
begin  to  be  more  careful  of  them  themselves.  A  sewing-class 
is  held  one  evening,  when  tlie  girls  make  some  of  their 
own  clothes ;  and  it  ends  with  twenty  minutes  of  a  short, 
earnest  Bible  address.  Bible-classes  are  also  held  on  the 
Sunday. 

The  girls  who  have  such  l)ad  homes,  and  are  so  untrained 
that  they  cannot  keep  their  places,  and  ultimately,  alas  !  work 
their  way  out  into  the  outcast  class,  are  taken  in  and  given 
a  few  weeks'  or  months'  teaching  in  ordinary  household 
service,  so  as  just  to  put  them  on  their  feet.  But  the  mass 
of  the  girls  learn  in  service  if  well  looked  after  and 
"  motheretiy  One  free  registry  office,  and  small  Preventive 
Home,  holding  only  seven,  has  in  the  nineteen  years  of 
its  existence  started  jive  thousand  girls  in  respectable  life. 
Most  of  them  had  been  in  circumstances  of  danger.  Tlie 
mass  of  them  but  for  this  one  agency  Avould  be  on  the 
streets.  If  each  of  our  large  towns  M'ould  only  save  a  fifth 
part,  in  twenty  years  there  would  l)e  thousands  saved  from 
swelling  the  ranks  of  our  degraded  girls.  Does  it  not  show 
us,  if  we  are  really  in  earnest  in  saving  our  own  womanhood 
from  degradation,  how  ^^"e  can,  if  we  will,  fence  this  pre- 
judice at  the  top,  instead  of  merely  providing  ambulances, 
in  the  shape  of  penitentiaries,  at  the  bottom  —  the  vast 
mass  of  the  waste  material  we  can  cut  off,  out  of  which  this 
terrible  degradation  is  made  ? 

Few,  indeed,  realize  the  needs  of  our  young  girls  in  our 
large  cities,  or  the  miserable  trifles  that  precipitate  so  many 
of  them  into  their  melancholy  fate.  One  girl  came  to  us 
whose  only  underlinen  was  a  strip  of  calico  pinned  round 
her  like  a  savage,  and  a  petticoat  with  three  openings  to  it, 
and  which  was  the  right  way  in  we  never  discovered.     How 


WOMAX  TO  THE  BE S CUB. 


161 


could  this  poor  child  get  into  respectable  service  with   such 
clothes  ? 

Another,  an  orphan,  was  turned  out  by  an  irate  mistress. 
She  had  no  home  to  go  to.  She  was  but  a  child ;  she  sat 
down  on  a  doorstep  and  cried. 
In  half  an  hour  or  so  some  poor 
outcast  girl  would  have  passed 
by  :  "  O,  come  along  with  me  ; 
I  will  take  you  in  for  a  bit." 
Scores  and  scores  of  our  girls 
are  thus  decoyed.  Providen- 
tially our  preventive  work  was 
started  ;  she  was  directed  to  the 
office,  given  a  bed  and  a  break- 
fast, and  })laced  in  service  the 
next  day.  I  don't  think  it  cost 
us  fifty  cents  to  save  her.  Alas, 
alas  !  the  little  that  it  takes  to 
save  our  girls;  and  yet  we  ^^s>-- 
neglect,  refuse,  forget  to  give  -^  ^^-^^ 
that  little,  and  the  child  is  lost, 
and  becomes  a  centre  of  cor- 
ruption to  others. 

Another  —  not,  alas  !  a  preventive  case  —  a  little  foreign 
girl,  with  no  friends  to  look  after  her  in  this  country,  stayed 
out  too  late  on  the  occasion  of  a  royal  visit,  with  illumina- 
tions and  torch-light  processions.  A  girl  in  the  crowd  offered 
to  take  her  home  with  her,  and  she  could  return  to  her  situa- 
tion the  next  day.  She  took  her  to  the  worst  house  in  the 
place.  She  was  brutally  injured  and  nearly  lost  her  life. 
It  was  only  a  little  girlish  love  of  fun  and  thoughtlessness 
at  the  time.  So  constantly  it  is  what  I  call  the  "  black 
kitten"  in  them — just  the  longing  that  our  own  dear  girls 
have  to  jump  about  a  little  in  ways  that  are  often  not  very 


102  STREET  AIIABS  AND  aUTTEll  SNIPES. 

discreet.  But  ulas  I  these  poor  children  jump  about  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice  ;  and  with  no  voice  to  warn  and  no  hand 
to  save,  very  often  in  a  moment  they  are  gone. 

Besides  this  more  general  preventive  work,  —  which  ought 

to  take  in  our  workliouse  girls,  and  generally  the  class  of 

little  servants  after  they  first  leave  school,  working  them  up 

ultimately  to  the    standard   of  the    Girls'    Friendly   or   the 

Christian  Young  Women's  Association,  into  which  they  can 

/      be  drafted  in  the  end,  —  there  is  the  work  of  rescuing  little 

/       girls  in  hopelessly  bad  conditions,  who  have  no  chance  in 

life.      These  —  the  children  of  drunkards,  of  poor  widows, 

\       living  chiefly  in  low  localities,  destitute  orphans,  etc. —  we 

\      either  emigrate  or  send  to  voluntary  industrial  schools. 

I  do  not  think  it  necessary  here  to  dwell  on  the  necessity 
of  rescue  Avork  as  well  as  preventive — the  necessity  of  our 
going  personally  among  our  lost  children,  as  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  came  personally  among  us,  not  sending  an  agent,  not 
shrinking  from  our  defilement,  but  Himself  laying  his  hands 
upon  us,  —  because  I  think  this  necessity  is  getting  recog- 
nized. I  urge  the  personal  visitation  of  the  vile  haunts 
where  our  lost  girls  herd,  as  only  so  can  we  aim  our  blows  at 
the  forge  where  fresh  links  are  adding  to  the  evil  chain, 
far  faster  than  we  can  take  them  off  at  the  other  end ;  only 
so  can  we  get  at  the  keepers,  and  take  the  message  of  sal- 
■v^vation  to  them  in  the  fearful  moral  isolation  in  which  they 
^  live;  only  so  can  we  find  out  the  very  young  girls  and  rescue 
them  at  once.  More  than  twenty  of  these  vile  resorts  we 
have  thus  closed  in  our  towii,  not  by  the  force  of  the  law  — 
when  they  only  break  out  in  the  next  street, — but  by  the 
methods  of  Christ,  and  the  conversion  of  souls.  And  this 
^;elf-denying  work  does  prove  a  most  powerful  protest  to 
men,  that  we  simply  will  not  have  a  class  of  our  own  sisters 
set  apart  to  moral  and  physical  destruction. 

But  in  order  to  carry  out  systematic  preventive  and  rescue 


W03IAK  TO   THE  HE S CUE.  163 

work,  as  well  as  other  measures  that  are  needed,  there  must 
be  some  organized  agency.  Let  us  remember  we  'are  going 
up  against  a  great  organized  evil,  and  we  can  only  meet  it  by 
counter-organization.  In  every  large  town  there  should  be 
a  band  of  Avomen  Avho  have  bound  themselves  together  for 
the  one  purpose  of  protecting  and  raising  tlieir  own  woman- 
hood, under  the  name  which  is  generally  adopted  of  a  Ladies" 
Association  for  the  Care  of  Friendless  Girls.  The  work  is 
unsectarian,  the  organization  simple  but  eifective.  A  presi- 
dent, treasurer,  and  secretary  elected  triennially,  a  small 
executive  conunittee  elected  annually,  which  manages  the 
affairs  of  the  Association,  and  a  body  of  associates  —  full 
associates,  who  attend  the  monthly  meeting  for  prayer  and 
apportionment  of  work ;  and  honorary  associates,  who  sub- 
scrilje  and  only  do  occasional  work.  At  the  monthly  meet- 
ings of  the  Association,  each  associate  chooses  what  work  she 
will  undertake  —  to  visit  a  certain  number  of  girls,  to  make 
up  clothing,  to  collect  cast-off  clothes,  to  hold  a  working 
party,  to  rescue  a  child  at  such  and  such  an  address,  to  hold 
a  class,  to  distribute  suitable  publications  to  mothers'  meet- 
ings, schoolmistresses,  parents,  etc.,  to  visit  outcast  girls,  etc. 
etc. ;  but  whatever  work  it  is,  if  it  is  undertaken,  it  has  got 
to  be  done.  It  is  entered  in  the  minute-book  opposite  the 
associate's  name,  and  she  has  to  report  upon  it  at  the  next 
meeting.  This  definite  apportionment  of  work  to  each  one  is 
the  very  secret  of  managing  an  association.  We  women, 
from  the  want  of  professional  training,  are  apt  to  get  slip- 
shod in  our  work,  but  once  well  wound  up  to  our  duty,  I 
always  agree  with  a  wcrking-man,  who,  when  I  was  propos- 
ing to  start  something  by  the  help  of  men  only,  exclaimed, 
enthusiastically :  "  Miss,  you  '11  do  nothing  without  our  female 
brethren  ;  one  female  is  worth  ten  men." 

Now,  here  again,  surely  we  can  all  work.     If  those  who 
are  "  longing  to  do  something  "  would  just  begin  by  trying 


164  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIBES. 

to  prepare  the  ground  for  an  association  in  the  place  or 
district  where  they  live.  Scatter  literature  bearing  on  the 
subject.  Tliis  cannot  be  lost  work,  for  it  will  aid  in  educat- 
ing public  opinion  and  getting  people  to  know  the  facts. 
Get  two  or  three  to  unite  with  you  in  prayer  about  it.  As 
the  interest  gradually  grows  and  deepens,  write  to  some 
other  associate  you  may  know  of,  and  invite  helpers  to  come 
and  hold  some  meetings,  with  a  view  to  forming  an  associa- 
tion. 

At  any  rate,  let  us  be  content  to  take  these  little  steps 
that  lie  next  us ;  and  again  I  say  it  is  in  "going  forward" 
that  the  })ath  will  open  through  these  waters  of  death,  and 
we  and  our  children  shall  pass  over,  the  redeemed  of  the 
Lord. 

But  great  as  are  the  results  which  I  believe  we  should 
attain  by  this  systematic  preventive  work  among  tmr  rough 
girls,  I  cannot  blind  my  eyes  to  the  glaring  fact  that  pre- 
ventive work  is  needed  much  further  back  than  that  which 
begins  with  the  girl  of  thirteen  or  fourteen.  If  we  are  to 
succeed  in  getting  rid  of  the  great  social  cancer  of  the 
degradation  of  women,  we  must  endeavor  steadily  to  work 
up  our  working  mothers  to  a  higher  standard  of  decency  and 
modesty  and  care  in  the  training  of  their  girls  and  boys. 
Without  them  Ave  cannot  be  made  i)erfect.  As  I  tell  my 
beloved  working  motliers,  "  Remember,  you  are  the  ones  who 
make  the  bricks :  we  Sunday-school  teachers,  evangelists, 
heads  of  mothers'  meetings,  schoolmasters  and  mistresses, 
])astors,  etc.,  are  but  the  masons ;  we  can  but  build  with  the 
material  you  bring  us ;  and  if  you  bring  them  to  us  just 
sodden  and  shapeless  through  your  overindulgence,  or  bent 
all  ways  but  the  right  by  your  hasty  tempers,  how,  I  ask, 
can  we  build  them  into  the  living  temple?"  As  long  as 
mothers  say,  "  Well,  ye  see,  ma'am,  I  have  n't  much  to  give 
them,  poor  dears,  so  I  gives  them  their  own  wa}'";    as  long 


WOMAN  TO   THE  JRESCUE.  165 

as  mothers  bring  dissipated  old  bachelors  of  eight  years  old 
before  the  school  board  with  the  plaint,  "  Gentlemen,  will 
yon  put  him  away  for  me  ?  He  keeps  late  hours  and  I 
can't  control  him  "  !  what  chance  is  there  that  we  can  save 
our  girls  and  boys  ?  Alas  !  let  those  answer  who  have  to  do 
with  a  girl  so  undisciplined  that  she  cannot  bear  the  restraint 
of  any  respectable  service ;  who  cannot  yield  obedience  to 
any  decent  employer  ;  and  who  from  sheer  wilfulness  works 
her  way  out  at  length  into  the  outcast  class  —  the  one  mode 
of  life  in  which  she  thinks  she  can  do  "  as  she  likes." 
^,.     Of  this   I  am  sure,  that  unless  we   can  get  our  working 

1  mothers  to  join  us,  and  make  it  ''  a  long  pull,  and  a  strong 
pull,  and  a  pull  altogether  "  in  saving  our  girls  from  this 
unspeakable  fate,  our  great  woman's  movement  is  doomed  to 
at  least  partial  failure. 
Let  us  think,  therefore,  how  we  can  best  reach  our  dear 
p  working-women.  First  of  all,  let  us  recognize  where  we 
have  failed.  '•'•  All  progress  begins  with  a  sense  of  sin." 
Has  not  God  put  us  into  different  ranks  that  each  may 
supply  what  is  lacking  in  the  other,  that  we  might  learn  our 
most  precious  lessons  in  faith,  in  endurance,  in  contentment, 
and  self-denial  from  the  poor,  and  that  they,  in  their  turn, 
should  learn  from  us  lessons  of  refinement,  of  modesty  and 
decency,  of  carefulness  in  little  things  in  the  training  of  the 
young,  and  the  fulfilment  of  our  great  common  task  of 
bringing  up  the  children  for  God?  Has  not  the  Master 
given  us  our  larger  houses  and  separate  bedrooms,  our  good 
localities,  our  greater  education  and  knowledge,  all  the 
j)urifving  and  refining  influences  of  our  lives,  as  a  trust  for 
the  good  of  the  many,  in  order  that  Ave  might  diffuse  a  high 
standard  of  living,  and  keej)  our  human  life  from  being- 
forced  down  by  the  conditions  of  back-streets,  as  it  inevitably 
would  be  if  we  were  all  of  us  ugly  and  dirty  and  ignorant 
together  in  those  back-streets  ? 


16G 


STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


Only,  unfortunately,  we  have  spent  our  trust-money  on 
ourselves.  We  have  allowed  the  very  possession  of  these 
advantages  to  make  us  forget  the  purpose  for  which  they 
were  given.  The  difficulties  presented  by  scanty  sleeping 
accommodation,  and  crowded  rooms,  and  no  play-place  but 
a  street  full  of  unruly  children  and  loose  lads,  are  not 
difficulties  that  press  upon  us ;  so  we  have  never  tried  to 
grapple  with  them.     It  is  n't  our  dear  girls  that  are  sacrificed 

in  body  and  soul,  it  is  n't 
"    N,  they  who   are    tempted 

before  they  are  old 
enough  to  resist,  and 
therefore  we  have  ig- 
nored the  whole  thing 
as  a  "disagreeable  sub- 
ject." 

But  is  not  this  full  of 
ho[)efulnebS,  when  once 
a    "  sense    of    sin '"    has 
made  progress  possilJle? 
_  We  cannot  in  the  least 

tell  what  we  can  do  in 
helping  our  working  mothers  to  a  higher  standard,  because 
as  yet  we  have  never  systematically  tried.  Again  I  say, 
we  do  not  know  what  the  great  reserve  force  of  Providence, 
the  influence  of  women  on  their  own  question,  can  accomplish, 
because,  as  yet,  it  has  never  l)een  brought  into  the  field. 

Only  let  us  make  a  dead-lift  effort  to  get  rid  of  this  sky- 
high  Christianity  of  ours,  with  its  head  in  the  clouds  and 
its  feet  in  the  mud.  Constantly,  when  I  urge  the  im[)ort- 
ance  of  bringing  these  practical  subjects  into  our  mothers' 
meetings  I  am  met  by  the  answer  that  ''after  all  the  great 
thing  is  to  preach  the  gospel."  But,  surely,  where  there  is 
one  injunction  to  preach  the  gospel  there  are  ten  to  apply  it. 


W03IAN  TO  THE  BE S CUE.  167 

and,  in  scriptural  language,  "  to  edify  " :  that  patient  laying  of 
stone  upon  stone,  line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept, 
building  in  the  gold,  silver,  and  precious  marbles  of  knowl- 
edge, experience,  and  wise  counsel,  which  enables  the 
spiritual  building  t(3  rise  from  the  one  foundation,  a  temple 
meet  for  the  Eternal.  What,  I  ask  again  and  again,  is  the 
use  of  preaching  the  gospel,  and  telling  our  people  that 
their  bodies  are  temples  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  when  men  and 
women,  girls  and  boys,  litter  down  like  pigs  in  one  room  at 
night  ?  Surely  we  wish  to  build  them  up  into  something 
higher  and  more  human  than  this.  I  sometimes  wonder 
whether  we  have  not  been  saving  "  souls  "  so  long  that  we 
have  ceased  to  save  men  and  women  —  this  too  solid  flesh 
which  must  sit  down  somewhere  on  washing-nights,  and  has 
too  often  only  the  public-house;  that  terribly  obtrusive 
body,  with  its  strong  passions  left  unguarded  and  untrained, 
to  run  headlong  like  Gadarean  swine  ;  those  high  functions 
of  fatherhood  and  motherhood,  that  make  us  akin  to  God 
himself  as  the  parents  of  beings  that  can  never  die,  but 
wiiich,  ignored  in  the  Christian  home  and  treated  with 
coarse  jocularity  in  the  world,  are  left  to  change  the  glory  of 
the  uncorrujDtible  God,  after  which  they  were  made,  into  an 
image  made  like  unto  the  beast  and  creeping  things. 

Let  us  then  set  to  work  earnestly  and  systematically  to 
attack  the  degradation  of  woman  from  one  at  least  of  its 
great  sap-roots  —  defective  early  training  on  the  part  of 
Avorking  mothers.  Do  not  let  us  do  it  in  a  self-righteous 
spirit,  but  rather  "  considering  ourselves,"  and  how  we 
should  have  done  under  their  adverse  conditions.  Alas  !  we 
have  not  succeeded  so  well  ourselves  with  our  sons,  that  we 
can  afford  to  sit  in  judgment  on  them  for  their  girls.  Let  us 
put  our  heads  and  our  hearts  together  and  try,  both  of  us, 
to  do  better.  Invite  discussions  of  difficulties.  Press  well 
home  on  them  the  fact  that  the  gypsy  mother  manages  to 


168  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

train  her  girls  to  be  virtuous,  teaches  her  that  she  is  not  to 
part  on  any  terms  with  the  eternal  jewel  of  her  character ; 
that  whatever  else  happens,  that  is  not  to  happen.  And  it 
never  does  happen.  Such  a  thing  in  Spain  as  a  gypsy  girl 
who  has  lost  her  character  is  never  heard  of.  What  a  poor 
ignorant  gypsy  mother  can  do,  surely  our  mothers  can  do. 

But  do  not  let  us  think  the  work  will  be  done  by  once 
reading  a  paper.  We  must  keep  steadily  on  at  it.  I  always 
think  of  a  German  minister,  who  had  a  very  eccentric  old 
thatcher  living  in  his  parish,  a  deeply  pious  man.  One  day 
this  old  thatcher  came  to  him  and  said :  "•  Thou  must  preach 
on  family-})rayer  ;  there  is  no  family-prayer  in  this  village, 
and  there  '11  never  be  any  blessing  till  there  is."  So  the 
minister  preached  the  next  Sunday  on  family-prayer.  Up 
came  the  old  thatcher  :  "  Thou  must  preach  that  sermon  till 
they  begin."  So  for  five  Sundays  he  preached  precisely  the 
same  sermon.  Then  the  old  thatcher  made  his  appearance 
again  :   "  Now,  thou  mayest  stop  ;  four  families  have  begun." 

So  we  must  go  steadily  on,  rubbing  it  gently  but  persist- 
ently into  the  bones  of  our  mothers,  till  we  really  do  see  an 
improved  state  of  things. 

Do  not  let  us  get  discouraged  and  hopeless  about  the 
difficulties  with  regard  to  overcrowding.  I  always  quote 
the  experience  of  a  London  barrister,  whose  mother,  a 
widow,  was  so  poor  that  she  could  only  afford  one  room  for 
herself  and  nine  children  :  '•'  It  is  mere  nonsense,"  he  always 
says,  "to  think  that  mere  scanty  space  necessitates  indecency 
and  immodesty.  We  were  Ijrought  up  as  modestly  and 
decently  as  any  rich  man's  child.  My  mother  was  deter- 
mined about  it ;  she  stretched  a  curtain  across  the  room  and 
she  and  the  girls  slept  on  one  side,  and  the  boys  on  the 
other." 

And  as  a  means  to  our  end,  could  we  not  organize  a  band 
of     women-lecturers,    who    would    undertake    to    give    to 


WOMAX  TO  THE  RESCUE.  169 

■"  women  only  "*  simple  homely  talks  rather  than  formal 
lectnres,  on  points  with  regard  to  the  training  of  our  girls 
and  boys  on  which  it  is  impossible  to  touch  in  print.  Any 
lady-doctor  could  suj)ply  the  necessary  instruction ;  and 
such  homely  lectures  to  the  best  methods  of  treating 
childish  ailments,  of  training  their  children's  bodies  as  well 
souls,  would  be  of  incalculable  service  to  educated  and 
uneducated  mothers  alike.  When  I  recall  that  the  worst 
case  of  corruption  I  have  ever  known,  was  begun  by  a  nurse- 
maid and  completed  by  a  groom,  and  was  all  carried  out 
under  the  blind  eyes  of  deeply  pious  parents,  I  may  be 
excused  for  the  feeling  that  we  all  stand  alike  in  need  of  the 
"  knowledge  that  giveth  light." 

There  is  another  vast  line  of  service  which,  from  the 
peculiarity  of  the  conditions  it  presents,  requires  separate 
treatment.     I  mean  our  factory  population. 

Let  me  first  touch  on  the  good  side  of  factory  life,  in 
relation  to  our  present  question.  As  far  as  I  can  find  out 
from  most  careful  in<|uiries,  factory  life,  as  a  rule,  does  not 
feed  the  outcast  class.  This  partly  results  from  the  fact 
that  loss  of  character  does  not,  as  in  the  far  larger  servant- 
class,  involve  loss  of  employment;  partly,  too,  that  factory 
life  develops  an  indejjendence  and  self-respect  wliich  is  not 
favorable  to  the  deepest  degradation.  The  fact  I  think  proves, 
at  least,  that  women,  as  a  rule,  do  not  join  the  outcast  class 
from  choice,  but  from  miserable  necessity.  Where  a  girl  can 
earn  her  own  bread  in  other  ways,  she  prefers  hard  work  to 
idle  vice. 

On  the  other  hand,  factory  life  dislocates  the  moral  order 
of  our  life  more  ^^I'ofoundly,  possibly,  than  any  other,  and 
presents  the  most  difficult  problems  to  solve.  The  habitual 
practice  of  mothers  is  to  desert  their  God-given  duties,  in 
order  to  work  in  the  mills,  relegating  their  infant  children  to 
tlie    care    of  old   women    armed  with   "  cordial,"   A\"hich,    as 


170  STREET  AllABS  AND  GUTTEJR  SNIPES. 

Professor  Jevons  remarks,  in  his  article  in  The  Contem'poraryy 
"  On  the  Employment  of  Women  in  Factories,"  quickly 
quiets  all  protests  on  their  part.  The  ordinary  mortality  of 
infants  in  one  year,  which  is  estimated  at  15  or  16  per  cent.» 
rises  in  some  of  the  manufacturing  towns  to  70,  80,  or  even 
90  per  cent.  It  is  calculated  that  from  30,000  to  50,000 
infants  annually  die  from  preventable  causes  :  in  other  words,, 
are  killed  off,  in  this  Christian  country.*  Truly  the  saints' 
day  on  which  the  Church  remembers  the  "  Holy  Innocents  " 
is  not  withoirt  its  modern  application,  and  I  should  suggest 
that  in  future  it  be  observed  as  a  day  of  national  humiliation, 
a  sinner's  day,  rather  than  a  saint's  day,  to  which,  alas  I  we 
have  no  right.  But  to  many  of  these  children,  the  dirty, 
fungus-bearing  bottle,  alternated  with  ''  cordial,"  means  not 
blessed  death,  but  stunted  life,  the  sickly  constitution,  the 
low  vitality,  the  weak  will  which  lends  itself  so  fatally  to 
evil,  the  emphatically  "  poor  creature  "  whom  it  is  pro- 
verbially so  hard  to  save. 

Added  to  this  neglect  of  young  children  is  the  utter  insub- 
ordination which  results  from  their  being  early  liread- 
winners  on  their  own  account,  and  should  their  parents 
"  offend  "  them,  their  having  the  power  to  set  up  for  them- 
selves, two  or  three  young  girls  clubbing  together,  and 
living  altogether  removed  from  any  control ;  girls  and  boys 
marrying  while  yet  in  their  teens,  only  to  dissolve  partner- 
ship in  a  few  months,  and  try  some  one  else.  When,  on  the 
top  of  all  this,  we  have  to  add  that  free-lovers  are  sowing 
their  doctrine  of  devils  among  these  raw  lads  and  lasses, 
and  practically  teaching  unbridled  licentiousness  made  safe, 
I  think  it  will  be  allowed  on  all  hands  that  factory  life 
presents  its  own  problems  in  the  prevention  of  the  degrada- 
tion of  women   as   the   great  vital  factor  in   the   moral  and 

*  England.     Tliis  jjaptT  was  written  lor  Enjrlisli  eyes. 


THE  STREET   GIRL'S    END. 


W03IAX  TO  THE  liESCUE.  173 

physical  health  of  the  nation,  and  tliat  here  at  least  is  one  of 
the  hardest  battle-fields  of  the  Church  of  Christ. 

May  I  not,  in  conclusion,  say  one  earnest,  pleading  word 
to  parents  to  be  ready  and  willing,  at  some  cost  to  them- 
selves, to  give  up  their  girls  to  this  blessed  work  of  raising, 
the  young  womanhood  of  their  country  to  be  a  fountain  of 
love  and  life  and  purity,  instead  of  the  fountain  of  impurity 
and  low  rough  ways  and  bad  training  of  the  young  that  it 
too  often  is  ?  May  I  not  urge  home  on  them  our  Lord  and 
Master's  solemn  dying  words,  "As  the  Father  hath  sent  Me 
into  the  wOrld,  even  so  have  I  sent  them  into  the  ivorld.''' 
Are  you  "sending  them  into  tlie  world," as  God  sent  his  own 
Son  into  the  world,  repeating  the  Divine  self-sacrifice  humbly 
and  faithfully  and  unshrinkingly  in  your  parents'  hearts, 
sending  them  into  the  world  to  pour  out  their  life-blot)d  for 
its  redemption  ?  Or  are  you  refusing  to  send  them  into  the 
world,  because  you  are  afraid  of  their  catching  something 
infectious,  because  you  don't  like  them  walking  alone  or 
being  out  at  night,  with  no  one  but  tlieir  God  to  take  care 
of  them ;  because  you  can't  let  them  be  unconventional,  and 
go  against  the  convenances  of  the  world, — perhaps  like  one 
father  I  know,  from  sheer  selfishness  refusing  to  let  his 
daughter  teach  in  the  Sunday-school  because,  though  "he 
always  went  to  sleep  on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  he  liked  to 
feel  that  she  was  in  tlie  house '"  I 

Then  may  I  not  earnestly  ask  you  to  remember  that  you 
are  refusing  to  let  them  be  Christians,  and  standing  in  the 
way  of  tlieir  eternal  salvation  ?  There  is  but  one  condition 
of  discipleship  :  "  As  Thou  hast  sent  Me  into  the  world,  so 
have  I  also  sent  them  into  the  world."  Sent  into  the  Avorld, 
to  go  about  doing  good,  to  encounter  evil  and  impurity,  to 
be  spoken  against,  to  suifer,  to  die  if  need  be,  we  must  be  if 
we  are  his.  In  the  name  of  him  who  spared  not  his  own 
Son  for  you,  but  freely  delivered  him  up  for  us  all,  refuse 


174  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

not  your  children  to  God.  Send  them  into  the  workl  to  do 
battle  for  the  kingdom  of  God,  to  look  up  and  to  lift  up. 
Use  the  evils  without  to  cast  out  the  evils  Avithin,  and  suffer 
its  mighty  forces  to  mould  them  into  heroic  shape,  even  after 
the  likeness  of  God's  own  Son.  Surely  James  Hinton  spoke 
the  truth  for  us  and  our  children  when  he  said,  "  You 
women  have  been  living  in  a  dreamland  of  your  own  ;  but 
dare  to  live  in  this  poor,  disordered  world  of  God,  and  it 
will  work  out  in  you  a  better  goodness  than  any  dreamland 
of  your  own."     Let  us  cry,  for  us  and  our  children, — 

''  Let  not  fair  culture,  poes}^  art,  sweet  tones, 
Build  up  about  our  soothed  sense  a  world 
That  is  not  Thine,  and  wall  us  up  in  dreauis, 
So  my  sad  heart  may  cease  to  beat  with  Thine, 
The  great  world  Heart,  whose  blood  for  ever  shed 
Is  human  life,  whose  ache  is  man's  dumb  pain." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

PERSONAL   EFFORT. 

Story  of   Little  Mary. — Victor  Hugo's  Description  of  the  "Arab."  —  "The  Pretty 
Picture."  —  "  Ma'am,  it  would  make  a  Gentleman  of  me.". —  Omnipotency  of  Faith. 

—  God's  Little  Girl.  —  Selling  his  Son. — Tlie  Runaway  Pig.  —  When  Polly  was 
Tight. —  A  Little  Wild  Savage.  — The  Beautiful  Moon. —Corruption  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer.  —  Mary's  Conscience  Finally  Reached.  —  Asking  Forgiveness.  —  Mary's 
Changed    Conduct.  —  Her    Prayers.  —  Taken    Home.  —  The    Moral    Precipice.  — 

"I  Serve."  —  "Little  Flower  "  and  the  Teacher's  Grave.  —  My  Bright-eyed  Child. 

—  "  Have  You?  " 

n^HIS  chapter  illustrates  the  work  to  which  Miss  Hopkins 
has  consecrated  her  splendid  powers.  The  story  of 
*' Little  Mary"  is  furnished  by  her  pen.  It  not  only  describes 
such  waifs  as  need  motherly  interference  and  protection,  but 
it  likewise  sets  forth  the  perseverance,  tact,  self-denial,  and 
heroic  Christian  endeavor,  which  Miss  Hopkins  calls  into 
requisition  in  securing  results  :  — 

It  was  raining  with  the  soft,  warm,  straight  rain  of  spring. 

The  golden  eavedrops  of    the    laburnums   in    the    cottage 

gardens  dripped  upon  me  as  I  passed ;  the  delicate  plumes 

of  lilac  were   hung  with  momentary  jewels  and  all  around 

were  — 

"  Cool  whispers  rippling  round  the  eaves, 
And  soft,  sweet  pipings  by  the  hour 
Of  chilly  birds  in  dim  wet  lanes, 
And  glades  all  liaunted  with  gray  rains, 
And  footfalls  of  the  falling  shower.*' 

I  was  just  thinking  what  a  lovely  world  it  was,  as  lovely 
in  this  soft  floating  gray  veil  as  it  was  the  day  before  in  its 
spring  sunshine,  Avhen  a  Sweep  passed  me.  I  do  not  think  I 
should  have  noticed  the  man  particularly  had  he  not  been 
followed  by  two  cldldren,  a  boy  and  a  girl.     I  stood  simply 


176  STBEET  ARABS  AND  (iUTTEll  SNIPES. 

aghast  in  the  luiddle  of  a  })U(klle  and  stared  stupidly  at 
them.  The  boy  looked  degraded  enough,  and  evidently 
belonged  to  that  class  of  homeless  "  gamins,"  Avhoni,  in 
revolutionary  France,  Victor  Hugo  describes  as  possessed 
with  two  unattainable  ideals  —  "•  to  upset  the  government "' 
and  "■  mend  their  own  trousers "  ;  but  who  in  our  more 
peaceful  and  matter-of-fact  country  are  cliiedy  associated 
with  pitch-and-toss  of  coppers,  not  governments,  much 
cadgering,  and  general  '"  up  to  no  good."  But  the  little  girl 
—  how  shall  I  describe  lier  ?  She  was  clad  in  an  old  great- 
coat ;  a  j^iece  of  faded  priiit  was  tied  with  a  bit  of  tape 
round  her  to  do  duty  for  a  skirt ;  her  feet  were  bare ; 
shadowing  her  little  impish  face  she  wore  an  old  wideawake, 
and  she  was  literally  as  black  as  a  coal.  Evidently  she  had 
been  used  for  sweeping  chimneys.  There  they  stood,  that 
outcome  of  the  great  liuman  world  and  of  nineteenth- 
centur}^  civilization,  in  the  midst  of  all  that  blossom  and 
verdure,  their  degradation  standing  out  all  the  more  })ain- 
fuUy  in  that  })ure,  sweet,  sacred  setting. 

Seeing  me  still  gazing  at  them,  the  father  stopped  and  said 
ironically,  "She's  a  nice-looking  girl,  ain't  she?"  Whilst  I 
was  saying  a  few  grave  words  to  him  about  the  child,  and 
receiving  the  excuse  that  his  wife  had  left  him,  and  he  had 
no  home  and  no  one  to  take  care  of  her,  the  child  pulled 
him  by  the  coat  and  said,  ''Show  the  lady  the  pretty  picture."^ 
This  was  at  once  produced  and  displayed  to  me,  "  the  pretty 
picture  "  being  a  photograph  of  the  father  lying  dead  drunk, 
the  man  taking  off  his  hat  and  displaying  his  bald  head^ 
from  which  every  atom  of  hair  had  been  singed  in  some 
fire,  to  show  me  how  very  like  it  Avas. 

I  passed  on  witli  a  saddened  lieart,  but  I  suppose  like  the 
hundreds  who  had  passed  those  two  children  by  on  the 
other  side,  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  do 
anything,  and  1  should  have  forgotten  all  about  them,  had  I 


PEESONAL  EFFORT.  177 

not  belonged  to  an  "  Association  for  the  Care  of  Friendless 
Girls."  Would  to  God  that  every  educated  woman  with 
a  happy  home  and  well-cared-for  children  of  her  own  would 
belong  to  such  an  association,  and  our  degraded  children 
would  soon  cease  out  of  the  land !  In  vain  I  tried  to  escape 
the  thought  of  that  child,  in  vain  I  pleaded  that  I  had  come 

to    U for  perfect   rest ;   "  thy  vows  were    upon    me,  O, 

Lord,"  and  I  felt  I  must  care  for  those  friendless  children. 

I  was  just  making  up  my  mind  to  go  round  to  all  the  low 
public-houses  and  inquire  for  them,  Avhen,  to  my  joy,  the 
very  next  morning  I 'caught  sight  of  the  boy  just  outside 
my  garden  gate.  It  rained  harder  than  ever  ;  the  lad  was  so 
wet  and  grimy  I  dared  not  have  him  inside  the  passage,  and 
I  can  see  the  poor  little  forlorn  object  as  I  stood  talking  with 
him  just  outside  the  doorway,  every  now  and  then  tilting  his 
head  sideways  to  let  the  pouring  rain  run  off  the  gutter  of 
his  old  wideawake. 

His  story  was  much  what  I  expected.  His  father  was 
a  confirmed  drunkard,  and  his  mother  had  been  so  knocked 
about  that  she  had  herself  taken  to  drinking,  and  finally 
deserted  them,  and  now  they  tramped  about  the  country, 
their  father,  when  intoxicated,  often  cruelly  ill-using  them. 
I  found  the  boy  could  not  read  or  write,  never  went  to  any 
scliool  or  place  of  Avorship,  and  was  literally  in  heathen 
ignorance.  He  was  most  anxious  to  escape  from  his  awful 
slavery,  and  when  I  suggested  sending  him  to  a  school, 
where  he  would  be  apprenticed  to  learn  a  trade,  he 
exclaimed,  "  Ma'am,  it  would  make  a  gentleman  of  me  !  "  I 
had  concluded  from  his  size  that  he  was  about  twelve,  but, 
on  asking  liis  age,  he  told  me  he  was  sixteen.  I  exclaimed, 
in  dismay,  "  O,  you  are  a  little  one !  " 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  he  said,  apologetically,  "•  I  ain't  big ;  but 
you  see  I  have  had  a  great  deal  agin  me." 

I  gave  him  my  address,  and  told  liim  to  ask  for  a  letter  at 


178 


STBEET  ARABS  AND  G  UTTEB  SNIPES. 


Burwasli,  us  tliey  were  going  to  sweep  chimneys  f(jr  the  next 
week  in  that  neighborhood. 

I  was  just  then  leaving  U ,  and  ni}-  last  sight  of  my 

son,  as  I  proudly  called  liim,  was  lying  in  the  mud  on  his 


A    COUNTRY    "ARAB. 


stomach,  with  his  arms  behind  him,  picking  up  a  penny  with 
his  lips  out  of  a  puddle,  the  admired  of  all  beholders. 

I  at  once  wrote  to  the  Hon.  Thomas  Palham  and  to  Dr. 
Barnardo,  about  the  children,  stating  that  T  had  no  funds  to 


PERSONAL  EFFORT.  179 

pay  for  tlie  boy,  but  that  an  association  would  give  a  dona- 
tion with  the  girl.  Dr.  Barnardo  most  kindly  consented  to 
take  both  the  boy  and  girl  free  ;  the  former  to  go  to  his 
Boys'  Home,  the  girl  to  l)e  sent  to  his  Village  Home  for 
Neglected  and  Destitute  Girls. 

But  by  the  time  all  arrangements  were  made  and  the 
papers  procured  to  be  filled  up,  it  was  long  past  the  time 
when  I  had  told  the  boy  to  call  at  the  Burwash  post-office. 
They  were  tramps,  they  had  no  settled  home,  they  could 
none  of  them  read,  and  there  was  all  tlie  country  to  wander 
over  for  stray  jobs  in  the  way  of  chimney-sweeping.  How 
was  I  to  find  them  ?  It  was  much  like  setting  out  in  search 
of  two  flies  that  had  stung  one  and  flown  away.  If  there  is 
one  thing  I  have  learned  more  than  another  in  these  sceptical 
days,  it  is  the  omnipotency  of  faith.  All  things  are  })Ossible 
to  him  that  ''  believeth."  I  knew  that  the  Great  Shepherd 
of  tlie  shee[)  knew  where  his  lost  lambs  were,  and  would 
guide  me  to  them.  "  God  has  love,  and  I  have  faith,"  and 
that  was  enough. 

I  first  wrote  to  an  uncle,  whose  address  I  had  got  from 
the  boy,  their  only  self-supporting  relation.  I  received  a 
scarcely  decipherable  letter  back,  to  say  that  he  could  dO' 
nothing  for  the  poor  children  as  his  wife  was  ill,  and  no  one 
could  do  anything  with  the  little  girl.  He  did  not  even 
know  where  they  were  to  be  found,  and  felt  sure  the  father 
would  refuse  to  part  with  them.  Evidently  the  man  was- 
very  poor  and  ignorant. 

I  then  wrote  to  the  neighboring  clergy,  and  asked  them 
to  keep  watch  for  me,  which  they  kindly  promised  to  tlo. 
Before  two  weeks  were  passed  I  received  a  letter  from  the 
Vicar  of  Burwash,  stating  that  in  his  parish  visitations  he 
had  observed  two  miserable  children  sitting  on  a  bag  of  soot 
by  the  wayside,  and  feeling  sure  from  their  appearance  they 
were  the  children  I  was  in  search  of,  he  had  at  once  accosted 


180 


ST-REET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEJi  SNIPES. 


them,  and  found  they  were.     He  then  hunted   up  the  father 
in  a  public-house,  and  found  that  he  was  willing  to  part  with 

the  girl  if  I  would  come 


over   to  U and   fetch 

her  ;  but  he  refused  to  give 
up  the  boy. 

Owing  to  a  mistake  in 
the  arrangements,  I  again 
lost  sight  of  them  for  a 
time,  but  my  indefatigable 
Vicar  again  caught  them, 
and  Avith  a  thankful  heart 

I  started  oft'  to  V ,  an 

hour's  rail  from  Brighton, 
to  claim  the  little  girl,  and 
with  faith  that  I  should 
get  the  boy  too.  On  arriv- 
ing 1  found  the  Sweep  and 
the  two  children  waiting 
for  me.  The  sight  of  the 
jjoor  little  degraded  mite 
to  be  handed  over  into  my 
keeping,  made  my  eyes  till 
with  tears,  and,  as  much  tt) 
ease  the  ache  of  my  own 
heart  as  anything  else,  I 
stooped  down  and  said, 
"•  You  are  God's  little  gii'l ; 
will  you  come  with  me  and 
be  taught  about  God,  and  be  a  good,  happy,  little  girl?'" 
Putting  her  little  black  hand  into  mine  she  asked  :  ''  Shall 
I  have  a  doll  and  little  gals  to  play  with?  Boys  do  knock 
one  about  so.     I  should  like  a  little  gal  to  play  with." 

We  had    to  enter    the  public-house  to  fill  in  the  papers. 


PERSONAL  EFFORT.  181 

"  I  am  so  black,  them  there  won't  have  me ;  they  like  the 
clean  sort,"  said  the  man,  pointing  with  his  thumb  to  the 
coffee-shed  which  I  had  suggested  as  preferable.  A  hint 
that,  I  thought,  to  our  teetotal  friends.  All  sorts  are 
welcome  at  the  ginshop. 

All  the  while  tliat  I  was  filling  in  the  papers,  the  jjublican, 
regardless  of  my  presence,  was  addressing  "  God's  little 
girl "  as  "  You  young  devil,  you,  can't  you  keep  still  ?  " 
Evidently  she  was  held  in  small  estimation. 

But  in  vain  I  made  any  approaches  to  getting  the  boy. 
The  father  swore  I  should  not  have  the  lad,  and  got  so  angry 
that  I  had  to  leave  and  go  back  to  tlie  station  waiting  the 
arrival  of  the  train.  I  have,  however,  great  faith  in  friendly 
talk  and  I  sat  down  and  entered  into  chat  with  the  man. 
Once  or  twice  the  bo}'  broke  in  with  a  piteous  entreaty  to 
his  father  to  let  him  go  with  the  lady  and  was  shut  up  with 
an  angry  word  and  a  threatened  cuff.  No,  nothing  but  death 
should  ever  part  him  from  the  lad. 

Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  a  talk  about  the  wet  season 
and  the  state  of  the  crops,  the  man  turned  round  and  said : 
"  You  shall  have  him  for  ten  shillings." 

"  Done  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Quick,  let  us  fill  in  the  papers 
before  the  train  starts." 

So  I  bought  my  son  for  ten  shillings ! 

And  yet  tlie  man,  bad  as  lie  was,  touched  me.  I  don't 
think  it  was  only  the  ten  shillings,  but  also  a  lingering  sense 
of  all  that  I  liad  been  saying  about  the  lad's  good,  that  made 
him  give  him  uj).  I  wondered  whetlier  he,  too,  had  been 
a  degraded  lad  with  none  to  have  pity  on  him.  He  kept 
pacing  up  aiid  down  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  station, 
whilst  I  and  the  children  were  waiting  for  the  train,  the 
tears  making  pink  wormy  channels  down  his  poor  sooty 
cheeks,  evidently  in  sore  trouble  at  jjarting  with   the    lad. 

As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  the  train  was  half  an  hour  late. 


182 


STREET  ARABS  AXD  G  UTTER  SXIPES. 


1  thought  it  would  never  come.  To  the  last,  I  did  not  know 
whether  that  imp  of  a  child  would  not  be  off.  Her  brother 
and  I  were  perpetually  making  forlorn  darts  after  her. 
Never  did  I  so  sympathize  with  the  man  whose  pig  bolted  in 
a  crowded  London  thoroughfare  just  as  it  had  been  driven 
with  much  labt)r  to  its  destination,  while  the  man  stood  stock 
still,  and,  clutching  at  his  hair  in  a  frenzy  of  despair, 
exclaimed :    '"  Blowed  if  it  won't  run  all  up   Cheapside  I  " 


(fUSSQU.  ttfUCf^V^-SQN-^ 


But  when  iit  length  tlie  train  did  draw  up,  never  did  I  find 
myself  such  an  unpopular  character  with  my  black  follow- 
ing. Looks  of  loathing  turned  me  from  all  doors,  and  it  was 
not  till,  at  last,  I  got  a  guard  to  lock  me  up  in  an  empty 
compartment  with  my  two  "  wild  beasties  "  that  I  began  to 
draw  a  free  breath.  They  roared,  they  danced,  they 
hullaballoed,  they  jmnched  one  another;  they  behaved  like 
young  savages — Init  I  knew  I  liad  got  them  safe. 

But  my  difficulties  were  renewed  at  the  other  end  of  my 
journey.     They  were  so  dii'ty  not  a  cab  would  take  them. 


PEBSONAL  EFFOliT.  183 

and  my  house  was  some  distance  from  the  station,  and  I  was 
far  too  tired  to  walk.  At  length  I  bribed  a  broken-down 
cab  to  convey  ns,  and  arrived  at  my  own  door,  feeling  much 
aged,  but  still  cheered  at  the  beaming  faces  of  my  two 
servants  and  felloM'-helpers  in  my  work,  who  rushed  out 
to  greet  my  two  jewels,  "  rejected  of  men  and  desj^ised," 
but  exquisitely  precious  to  our  hearts. 

When,  however,  they  got  the  little  girl  into  her  bath  she 
•cursed  and  swore  so  awfully,  and  used  her  teeth  so  freely, 
that  cleanliness  on  that  occasion  did  not  come  next  to  godli- 
ness. Their  clothes  had  to  be  burned  then  and  there  ;  the 
state  of  living  filth  they  were  in  was  indescribable.  They 
ate  with  their  hands,  having  no  notion  of  using  a  knife  and 
fork ;  and  on  being  asked  how  she  had  broken  one  of  her 
front  teeth,  at  first  the  child  said,  "  Jack  did  it." 

"  That's  a  lie  I  "  retorted  poor  Jack.  "  You  know  you  did 
it  yourself,  Polly,  when  you  were  tight  the  other  day,  and 
fell  down." 

"  O,  yes,  so  I  did,"  she  answered  affably.  "  T  was  so 
drunk  I  could  n't  stand  I  " 

Only  nine  years  old,  this  child  of  our  Christian  civili- 
zation I 

By  the  afternoon  we  had  got  them  rigged  out  in  decent 
clothing,  and  looking  quite  clean  and  respectable,  and  they 
started,  under  the  care  of  my  own  servant,  for  London. 
Alas  !  it  was  only  the  outside  of  the  platter  we  had  cleaned. 
The  little  girl's  behavior  was  such  that  every  one  had  to 
leave  the  carriage,  and  my  unfortunate  servant  heaved  no 
slight  sigh  of  relief  when,  at  length,  she  handed  them  over 
to  the  agent,  who  was  in  waiting  for  them  at  the  London 
station. 

My  heart  sank  at  the  very  thought  of  them.  Surely  it 
was  a  task  beyond  any  human  power  to  reclaim  them  :  the 
boy  was  too  old,  and  the   girl   too   utterly  Avild  and   savage. 


184  STEEET  AEABS  AND  GUTTEE  SNIPES. 

Could  anything  be  done  with  such  waste  and  cruelly  misused 
material  ? 

To  my  surprise  and  joy,  I  heard  from  time  to  time  that 
both  were  doing  well  and  were  very  happy ! 

One  immense  advantage  of  the  cottage  system  adopted  at 
Ilford  over  the  old-fashioned  detestable  barrack  system  is 
that  it  admits  of  classification,  not  only  of  the  children,  but 
also  of  the  "  mothers."  Little  Mary  was  put  with  the  cot- 
tage mother  who  was  most  likely  to  be  able  to  manage  her, 
and  was  always  under  one  loving  firm  hand,  not  under  half 
a  dozen. 

For  the  first  eight  days  it  was  as  if  a  little  wild  savage  had 
been  admitted  into  the  peaceful  home.  She  bit  and  pinched 
the  children,  till  the  youngest,  called  "  the  baby,"  a  little 
three-year-old  child,  was  ill  from  sheer  fright  of  her.  Her 
skin  was  as  hard  and  tanned  as  leather  from  constant  expo- 
sure, and  bore  the  scars  of  ill-treatment.  She  would  turn 
the  tap  and  splash  the  water  all  about,  and  on  being  reljuked 
would  say,  "  O,  but  I  want  to  get  wldte  like  the  other 
little  gals  ! "  She  had  never  slept  in  a  bed,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  get  her  to  lie  straight  in  one.  The  instant  the 
mother's  eye  and  hand  were  removed  she  would  curl  herself 
up  in  a  little  brown  heap  on  the  pillow,  or  she  would  pull  all 
the  bedclothes  off  her  own  and  the  other  children's  beds  and 
sleep  on  the  floor.  It  was  impossible  to  make  her  keep  on 
her  clothes.  She  would  be  dressed  in  the  morning,  and  half 
an  hour  after  she  would  appear  in  the  same  state  as 

'•  Whi'ii  wild  ill  woods  the  noble  s;iv;ig'o  ran."' 

Her  shoes  were  the  greatest  offence  of  all,  and  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  running  out  on  the  Avet  veranda  with  her  shoeless 
feet  and  then  pattering  up  the  clean  stairs  and  jum}iing  on 
her  white  counterpaned  bed  with  her  muddy  stockings. 

She  had  apparently  no  knowledge  of  God  or  sense  of  his 
presence.     The  only  thing  she  had  any  reverence  for  was  the 


THE    SILENT    WATCHER. 


PEBSONAL  EFFORT.  187 

moon.  On  one  occasion,  when  the  children  were  going  to 
evening  service,  and  a  beautiful  moon  was  shining,  one  of 
them  pointed  to  it,  exclaiming,  "  O,  mother !  look,  what  a 
beautiful  moon ! "'  Little  Mary  caught  hold  of  her  hand 
and  cried,  '•'  Yer  mus'  n't  point  at  the  blessed  moon  like  that ; 
and  yer  mus"  n't  talk  about  it!  "  Was  it  from  constant!}' 
sleeping  under  hedges  and  in  barns,  and  waking  up  and 
seeing  that  bright  calm  eye  looking  at  her,  that  some  sense 
of  a  mysterious  Presence  had  come  upon  the  child? 

Her  only  idea  of  prayer  was  a  sort  of  heathen  incantation 
of  unmeaning  words  jumbled  together ;  her  "  form  of 
prayer "  was  generally,  "•  Our  Father  chart  in  heaven : 
Hollered  by  thy  name  :  Kingdom  come.  Amen  :  Matthew, 
Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  four  angels  round  my  bed :  Good- 
night, father  ;  good-night,  mother ;  good-night,  uncles  ;  and 
good-night,  everybody.  Amen."  This  curious  spiritual  exer- 
cise was  accompanied  with  other  exercises  in  the  shape  of 
pinching  the  child  next  her,  pulling  the  blind  tassel  to  pieces, 
dabbing  at  a  passing  fly,  etc.  On  one  occasion,  when  the 
much-tired  cottage  mother  was  pouring  out  her  heart  in 
prayer  for  the  poor  child,  and  asking  God  to  change  her 
heart,  and  telling  him  how  very  nauglity  she  was,  and  how 
she  liked  to  do  wrong  things  rather  than  right,  the  child 
exclaimed,  quite  out  loud,  "  Yes,  that  I  do  ;  it 's  iver  so  much 
nicer  to  do  wrong  tilings  than  right !  " 

At  last  things  came  to  a  crisis.  The  mother  heard  the 
child  go  out  on  the  veranda,  and  then  with  her  little  wet 
feet,  as  usual,  run  pattering  ujDstairs  into  her  bedroom.  She 
had  a  sort  of  human  affection  for  her  bed,  and  would  be 
found  cuddling  it,  and  saying,  "  O,  my  dear,  dear  bed !  " 
The  mother  went  up  stairs,  and  said,  "  Now,  Mary,  you  must 
put  on  some  dry  stockings  and  put  on  your  slippers." 

Her  large,  dark  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  shaking  her  little 
brown  fists,  she  said,  "•  I  won't!" 

"  Marv,  von  will !  " 


188  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

One  of  the  elder  girls  advanced  with  the  clean  stockings, 
but  with  a  well-planted  blow  she  knocked  her  backward. 
Another  came  forward  to  take  the  post  of  danger,  but  the 
mother  interfered,  and  said,  "  No,  Mary ;  I  will  not  let  you 
ill-treat  the  children.     I  will  put  the  stockings  on  myself." 

The  child  struggled  with  all  her  strength,  but  did  not 
offer  to  strike  her ;  and  having  gained  the  victory  the  mother 
left  the  room,  feeling  utterly  done. 

One  of  the  elder  children  came  to  the  child  and  began 
talking  to  her  in  sweet  childish  fashion,  how  it  made  them 
all  so  unhappy  to  see  her  so  rude  to  their  mother,  and  then 
began  telling  her  about  our  Lord,  how  he  loved  us,  and  how 
he  came  on  the  earth,  and  "was  poor  just  like  us,"  and 
had  n't  a  nice  bed  to  lie  on  when  he  was  tired,  and  how  he 
died  for  us  because  he  loved  us  so  very,  very  much. 

The  child  looked  up  in  her  face  and  said,  "Yer  don't 
believe  that  now,  do  yer  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do.  And  oh!  Mary,  to  please  Jesus,  will  you  ask 
mother's  forgiveness  ?  " 

"Well,  yes;  I  will,"  and  the  child  flew  downstairs  and 
burst  like  a  November  squib  into  mother's  room.  Suddenly 
she  stood  transfixed.  The  mother's  tea  stood  untouched ; 
her  eyes  were  very  red.  She  had,  in  truth,  been  having  a 
good  cry  over  the  child. 

"  Yer  've  been  crj-in'  !  "  Mary  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  because  I  am  so  very,  very  sorry  for  you  ;  you 
have  been  so  naughty." 

"I  wouldn't  cry,  I  wouldn't.  Yer 've  not  got  to  be 
punished;  yer  have  nothin'  to  cry  for." 

The  mother  proceeded  to  butter  her  a  piece  of  toast,  as 
she  generally  gave  the  child  something  from  her  own  tea. 
"  This  is  for  a  little  girl  who  is  going  to  ask  mother  to  forgive 
her." 

"  That  ain't  me,"  said  Mary,  conclusively. 


J 


PERSOXAL  EFFOBT.  189 

"•  Very  well,  then  ;  I  will  give  it  to  Brenda." 

Out  she  flew,  and  said  to  the  eldest  girl,  ''  What  do  yer 
think  ?  That  'ere  mother  has  been  cryin' !  It 's  all  to  make 
me  cry,  but  I  ain't  a-goin'  to." 

Then  she  ran  back.  Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of  their  talk, 
she  fixed  her  impish  brown  eyes  on  the  mother's  face.  "I 
dare  say  yer  a-wishiii'  that  I  'd  ask  yer  forgiveness  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mary." 

"  But  I  ain't  a-goin'  to." 

Conversation  was  again  resumed.  Then  suddenly  the 
child  again  broke  in.  "  I  dare  say  yer  still  thinkin'  that  'ere 
wish?" 

"  Yes,  Mary." 

"  But  I  ain't  a-goin'  to." 

"  Very  well,  my  child.     I  shall  have  to  tell  the  governor." 

"  But  yer  won't  tell  him,  and  yer  won't  cry  no  more  if  I 
do?" 

"  No  ;  there  '11  be  no  need." 

The  child  tlien  insisted  that  the  mother  should  turn  her 
chair  away  from  the  table  and  sit  straight  upright ;  and 
hereupon,  the  ground  being  clear  in  the  front,  and  all  things 
properly  prepared,  she  fell  down  on  her  knees,  looking  a  most 
miserable  object,  and  implored  her  forgiveness.  At  once  the 
mother  caught  her  in  her  arms,  and  they  had  a  good  hug  and 
cry  together. 

From  that  moment  little  Mary  was  conquered. 

"  It  was  the  tears  that  did  it ! "  as  the  dear  cottage 
mother  exclaims.  The  child  had  known  beating  enough, 
but  she  had  never  known  the  "  grief  of  the  Spirit "  in  the 
heart  of  one  who  loved  her.  From  that  time  her  devotion 
to  her  cottage  mother  knew  no  bounds.  She  poured  out  her 
forgotten  heart  upon  lier  with  the  divine  wastefulness  of 
a  child  who  has  had  none  to  love  her.  She  never  had  to  be 
punished.       Of    course    the    mother    had    to    be    constaiitly 


190  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

correcting  lier,  but  slie  never  had  to  speak  twice  ;  she  never 
forgfot  what  her  mother  told  her. 

One  of  the  first  signs  of  change  was  that  Mary  wanted  to 
pray  like  the  others.  The  mother  had  sent  her  to  bed  with 
the  other  children  to  see  if  she  conld  undress  herself.  Soon 
after  she  peeped  into  the  room  to  see  what  was  happening. 
There  was  little  Mary,  properly  clad  in  her  night-dress, 
kneeling  by  the  bedside,  while  "  the  baby ''  was  sitting  up  in 
bed  like  a^doctor  of  divinity  teaching  Mary  to  pray,  while 
Mary  was  reverently  repeating  the  words  after  her. 

And  so  little  Mary  learned  to  pray  much  as  the  dear  birds 
learn  to  sing,  from  one  another ;  only  since  in  man  we  ever 
touch  on  mysteries,  it  was  the  callow  nestling  that  taught 
the  full-grown  song.  And  native  as  song  to  a  bird  was 
prayer  to  little  Mary's  heart.  It  was  literally  with  her  the 
beautiful  child-definition  of  prayer  —  "the  heart  talking 
with  God."  She  prayed  for  every  one,  but  especially  for 
her  brother,  to  whom  she  was  fondly  attached,  the  tie 
between  them  being  very  close.  If  she  ever  thought  that 
the  cottage  mother  in  their  morning  prayers  was  going  to 
forget  to  pray  for  him,  she  would  whis})er  very  low  as 
a  reminder,  "  My  poor  little  brother  !  " 

At  length,  in  the  spring,  poor  little  Mary  fell  ill  of 
bronchitis.  Her  cottage  mother  susj)ecte(l  that  there  was 
something  more  amiss,  as  whenever  she  caught  the  least 
cold  she  had  a  most  dreadful  cough,  and  alas  !  but  too  truly, 
the  exposure  and  ill-treatment  of  her  past  life  had  sown  the 
seeds  of  consumption,  which  rapidly  developed.  She  clung 
intensely  to  her  cottage  mother,  and,  with  that  reverence  for 
a  child's  heart  which  seems  to  me  so  profoundly  Christlike, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Soltau  managed  that  she  should  be  nursed 
through  all  the  first  months  of  her  illness  at  the  cottage,  and 
only  quite  towards  the  end  was  she  removed  to  the  school 
infirmary.     She  showed  a  most  sweet  patience  in  her  suffer- 


PEESOXAL  EFFOBT.  191 

iiig  ;  sometimes,  when  the  terrible  tit  of  bleeding  came  on, 
she  would  look  up  and  say,  "  Don't  cry,  dear  mother  ;  Jesus 
helps  me,  and  I  will  try  to  bear  it."  And  once,  when  the 
cottage  mother  said  she  feared  she  would  not  get  about 
again,  she  rej^lied,  simply  and  brightly,  "•  I  don't  know, 
mother,  what  Jesus  will  do  ;  perhaps  he  will  make  me  better. 
He  is  inside  me,  you  know,  and  he  can  do  it."  But  later  on 
the  dear  child  seemed  to  have  a  longing  to  depart  and  be 
with  her  Lord.  ''If  I  die  now  I  shall  go  to  Jesus,  and  he 
will  take  care  of  me  till  you  come.  But  mother,"  she  added 
wistfully,  "  don't  you  think  if  we  ask  him  he  will  let  you 
come  with  me?  " 

Once,  in  the  first  part  of  her  illness,  she  said  to  the 
mother,  who  was  sitting  by  her,  "  I  know  what  makes  me  ill 
like  this.  My  father  was  so  unkind  to  me ;  he  would  often 
pay  for  a  bed  for  himself  and  leave  me  to  sleep  outside  on 
the  doorstep,  or  anywhere.  I  never  had  a  nice  bed  like  this, 
or  I  shouldn't  be  ill  like  as  I  am  now."  Then  they  prayed 
for  the  [)Oor  father  ;  and  when  the  prayer  was  done  the 
child  said,  "  Now  I  should  like  to  be  quiet  and  pray,  too." 
And  putting  her  hands  together,  she  prayed  by  name  for 
every  one  who  had  shown  her  kindness. 

"  Who  taught  you  to  i)ray  like  that,  Mary  ? "  said  the 
mother,  in  secret  amazement. 

"Mother,  I  like  praying,"  she  answered,  simply,  "-and  I 
used  to  get  behind  the  cottage  with  "  —  naming  a  particular 
tiresome  child — ^"and  pray  Avith  her  and  try  and  help  her  to 
do  better." 

On  another  occasion  the  mother  had  attended  a  mission 
service  among  the  pea-pickers,  and  was  speaking  of  the  little 
barefoot  children  and  the  untidy,  drinking  mothers.  It 
evidently  recalled  her  own  past,  and  she  said,  '■'•  O,  that 's 
just  like  my  poor  mother.     She  did  drink  awful ! " 

"  And  what  did  you  do  ?  " 


192 


STUEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


"O,  I  used  to  look  out  for  a  p'liceman,  aud  when  I  saw  one 
1  used  to  run  up  to  him  and  say,  'Mister,  just  come  and  take 
this  woman  oft' ;  she  's  drunk  and  can't  take  care  on  us.' " 

''And  did  he  take 
her?" 

"  Yes,  he  took  her 

off." 

'•And  what  ])ecame 

of  you  ?  " 

"Johnny  and  me 
used  to  give  ourselves 
up  at  the  Union  to  get 
a  night's  lodging." 

"Well,  dear,  which 
would  you  rather  be, 
hack  in  the  old  life  or 
with  me  and  like  you 
are  now  ( 

"  Never,"  says  the 
kind  mother,  "  shall 
I  foro;et  the  soft  ex- 
pression  t  h  a  t  came 
into  her  eyes  as  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice, 
'  ( )  mother,  don't  ask 
me  that !'  *" 

On  my  return  from 
a  short  absence 
abroad  I  wrote  to 
say    that   if    the    sea 

air  would  do  the  child  any  good  she  had  better  be  sent 
down  to  me ;  but  I  received  the  answer  that  little  Mary 
was  fading  rapidly  away.  Only  a  few  weeks  after,  she 
was  taken  home  to  sing  more  fully  in  heaven  the  l)eautiful 


WOMAX^  TO  THE  HE S CUE.  193 

little    hynni   which  she   was   always  singing   upon   earth,  — 

''I  am  Jesu's  little  lamb; 
Happy  all  the  day  I  am." 

What  can  1  add  to  this  narrative  of  facts,  for  the  accuracy 
of  which  I  can  vouch,  and  which  are  so  much  more  touching 
and  powerful  tlian  any  j^oor  words  of  ours  ?     This,  and  this 

only- 
Hundreds  had  passed  that  poor  child,  and  some  had  even 

done  her  little  kindnesses,  but  not  one  seemed  to  ask  them- 
selves "  What  will  this  child  be  as  a  woman  ?  Drunken, 
swearing,  dissolute,  it  will  be  impossible  to  save  her  then ; 
cannot  I  save  her  now  ?  "  We  all  know  it  is  the  girl,  and 
not  the  boy,  that  is  most  likely  to  become  a  social  outcast. 
Once  let  her  fall  over  that  fearful  moral  precipice  which 
skirts  her  path,  and  it  is  hard  indeed  to  recover  her.  Were 
it  not  better,  then,  to  fence  the  precipice  at  the  top,  rather 
than  to  confine  ourselves  to  providing  ambulances  in  the 
shape  of  penitentiaries,  rescue  societies,  etc.,  at  the  bottom  ? 
Yet  how  systematically  preventive  work  among  girls  has 
been  neglected  is  shown  by  the  proportionate  number  of 
girls  to  boys  in  the  London  Industrial  Schools  —  200  girls  to 
1,300  boys.  In  Ireland,  on  the  contrary,  where  the  standard 
of  female  honor  is  high,  and  the  Roman  Catholic  sisters  look 
after  the  girls,  the  proportion  is  2,039  boys  to  3,171  girls. 
At  one  of  our  large  seaports  500  boys  are  in  careful  indus- 
trial training  to  0  girls.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  all  our  large 
towns  swarm  with  outcast  girls  ?  Till  within  the  last  few 
months  the  Industrial  Schools  Act  refused  to  take  any 
cognizance  of  what  I  may  call  the  representative  danger  in 
a  girl's  life. 

Is  not  James  Hinton  right  in  saying  that  the  great  basic 
evil  of  all  is  the  sort  of  unconscious  selfishness  and  indi- 
vidualism on  which  our  life  is  founded,  and  the  two  great 


194 


STREET  ARABS  AND  G  UTTER  SXIPES. 


factors  of  our  Christianit}^  have  been  God  and  our  own  soul ; 
and  the  third  and  e([ually  vital  factor,  the  world,  humanity, 
has  either  been  left  out  or  come  in  by  the  way  as  an  after- 
thought ?  Cannot  we,  I  ask,  bring  up  our  children  with  the 
motto  of  the  heir-apparent — certainl}^  the  motto  of  every 


heir-apparent  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven — "I  serve  "?  Can- 
not we  get  into  their  very  bones  that  all  they  have,  all  their 
advantages,  are  not  theirs  by  riglit,  but  only  as  a  trust  for 
the  good  of  others,  to  give  them  a  vantage  groiuid  for  help- 
ing and  serving  ? 

May  little  Mar}-,  ])eing  dead,  yet  speak  to  our  hearts,  and 
may  the  mother  in  us  rise  up  in  the  power  of  Christ,  and 
unite  with  our  children  in  making  such  sacrifices  of  money, 
of  time,  of  labor,  that  there  may  be  no  longer  in  our  midst 


PEBSOXAL  EFFORT.  195 

hundreds  and  hundreds  of  degraded  children  being  brought 
up  to  a  life  of  shame  and  misery  for  the  want  of  industrial 
schools  to  train  them  to  better  things,  and  make  them 
"  God's  little  girls." 

In  speaking  of  the  rewards  of  such  workers,  an  English 
minister  said :  — 

I  was  walking  in  a  beautiful  cemetery  in  America,  and  my 
attention  was  called  to  a  green  plat  of  turf  on  which  no 
stone  was  raised ;  no  marble  crowned  the  moss,  but  the  turf 
was  almost  invisible  for  the  wreaths  of  choice  exotic  flowers 
which  were  freshly  clustered  there.  I  was  told  that  twenty- 
three  years  ago  a  quiet  Christian  gentleman,  who  had  worked 
hard  and  lovingly  to  teach  and  train  the  children,  had  been 
buried  in  that  spot,  and  every  day  since  the  children  had 
CDUie  with  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers  to  lay  upon  his  grave. 
"  But  how  can  poor  children  get  such  costly  flowers  ? "  I 
asked.  ''  O,  they  just  call  on  licli  men  who  have  conserva- 
tories and  tell  them  what  they  want  the  flowers  for,  and  the 
best  are  not  half  good  enough  to  give  them.  Thcv  divide 
the  pleasure  of  adorning  their  old  teacher's  grave  among 
themselves.  The  turn  does  not  come  round  to  the  same 
child  above  once  a  year,  for  he  was  loved  by  hundreds,  and 
those  whom  he  taught  have  trained  their  children  to  revere 
his  memory.  But  one  day,  many  years  ago,  soon  after  the 
teacher  died,  there  was  a  very  poor  little  girl  who  had  been 
one  of  his  favorite  scholars,  who  could  not  pluck  up  courage 
to  go  and  ask  great  men  for  flowers.  See  there  !  "  said  my 
guide,  "that  little  grave  just  at  tlie  teacher's  feet  is  where 
she  lies  *'  —  for  she  followed  him  soon  after.  There  was  a 
little  marble  cross,  and  a  chain  of  simple  daisies  hung  upon 
it,  and  the  two  words  "  Little  Flower "  carved  upon  the 
stone.  She  had  gone  in  her  turn  to  her  old  teacher's  grave, 
but  she  had  no  flowers  to  lay  upon  it,  so  she  twined  a  chain 


196 


STIiEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPES. 


of  daisies  and  put  it  on  the  grass.  But  it  looked  poor  beside 
the  unfaded  magnolias  and  choice  flowers  of  the  day  before, 
and  she  blushed  to  let  it  stay.  It  was  a  warm  and  beauteous 
summer  evening,  so  she   hid  herself  among  the  bushes  till 


the  cemetery  gates  were  closed,  and  then  went  back,  and 
with  the  daisy  chain  about  her  neck,  lay  down  upon  her 
teacher's  grave.  In  the  morning  the  keeper  of  the  place 
was  walking  by,  and  he  saw  the  child  asleep  with  the  daisies 
round  her  neck.  His  footsteps  woke  her  and  she  started  up. 
"  Don't  send  me   away,"'  she  said ;  ''  let  me  lie  here  till  the 


1 


PERSONAL  EFFOBT.  197 

next  child  comes  with  fine  flowers.  I  had  none  to  give  him, 
so  I  stayed  myself.  He  used  to  call  me  his  '  little  flower,' 
and  1  hoped  he  would  feel  me  like  a  flower  on  his  heart  now\ 
I  was  n't  a  bit  afraid.  I  lay  and  saw  the  stars  come  out  in 
the  sky,  and  wondered  which  was  the  window  he  was  look- 
ing from  as  I  lay  here,  and  I  slept  and  dreamed  the  happiest 
dreams  of  all  my  life."  He  could  not  bid  her  begone  ;  he 
left  her  there  till  the  next  little  flower-bearer  came.  But 
that  is  a  glorious  vocation  which  gives  the  possibility  of 
eliciting  such  love,  and  I  congratulate  every  worker  upon 
the  work  of  so  culturing  the  moral  wastes  as  that  haply  a 
''  little  flower  "  niay  spring  out  of  their  barrenness,  and  the 
desert  may  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose.  The  spirit  of 
the  age  may  be  too  })ractical  to  care  for  such  sympathy.  But 
I  have  a  bright-ej'ed  child  who  is  the  apple  of  my  eye,  and 
when  I  think  of  what  a  madness  would  be  mine  if  brunt  of 
shame  or  hardship  should  touch  her,  I  bless  the  man  or 
woman  with  all  my  soul  who  seeks  to  fling  a  shield  round 
some  other  person's  child,  and  no  ice  and  no  stately  or 
critical  article  shall  ever  freeze  the  prayer  I  offer  for  such. 
If  ever  a  man  spoke  right  from  his  heart  I  speak  from  my 
heart  now. 


"  Have  you  carried  the  living  watei- 

To  tlie  parelied  and  tliirsty  soul  ? 
Have  you  said  to  the  sick  and  weary, 

'  Christ  Jesus  makes  thee  whole  ?  ' 
Have  you  told  my  fainting  children 

Of  the  strength  of  the  Father's  hand! 
Have  you  guided  the  tottering  footsteps 

To  the  shores  of  the  Golden  Land? 

"Have  you  stood  by  the  sad  and  weary, 
To  smooth  the  pillow  of  death ; 
To  comfort  the  sori'ow-stricken. 

And  strengthen  the  feeble  faith? 


198  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

And  hiive  you  felt  when  the  gloiy 

Has  streamed  through  the  open  door, 

And  flitted  across  the  shadows, 
That  I  have  been  there  before  V 

"Have  you  wept  with  the  broken-hearted 

In  their  agony  of  woe? 
You  might  hear  Me  whisp'ring  beside  you, 

'T  is  a  pathway  I  often  go ! 
My  disciples,  my  brethren,  my  friends, 

Can  you  dare  to  follow  Me? 
Then,  wherever  the  Master  dwelleth, 

There  shall  the  servant  be ! " 


CHAPTER   X. 

HARD    EXPERIENCES, 

Child-life  Endangered.  —  The  "Water-dog.  —  Who  are  the  Neglected  Ones?  —  "  Patsey 
the  Dog."  —  The  Story  of  Baruardo's  Uescue  Work.  —  First  Eflbrts.  — The  Startling 
Discovery.  —  Sleeping  Out.  —  Taught  Useful  Trades.  —  Increasing  Facilities  for 
Boys  anil  Girls.  —  "The  Edinboro'  Castle."  —  The  Singing-Class.  — Ginger,  Jumbo, 
PaiTot,  and  Croppy.  —  Pummelled  by  Policemen.— A  Sorrowing  ^Mother. — 
Specimen  Cases  of  Poor  Girls.  —Numbers  1,  2,  3,  4.  —  City  Missionary  Experiences. 

—  Description  of  a  Tramp's  Lodging-House.  —  One-eyed  Joey.  — Joey's  Religion. — 
Joey's  Singular  Gift.  —  The  Girl's  Afl'ecting  History.  —  Joey's  Honorable  Stratagem. 

—  Difficulty  of  Finding  Employment  for  Discharged  Prisoners.  —  Birds  of  Prey 
Outside  the  Jails.  —  Remarkable  Letter  by  a  Converted  Thief.  —  Full  of  Slang 
Language.  —  The  Runaway  Horse.  —  The  Job  of  Work. —  Reformation,  Education, 
Conversion,  Consecration. 

n^HE  most  superficial  observer  of  "  Arab  "  life  will  readily 
discover  that  there  are  many  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
their  progress  toward  respectability.  Street  associations 
quickly  demoralize.  Raw  country  children  when  left  exposed 
to  their  corrupting  influences  have  readily  fallen.  Notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  greater  efforts  are  made  now  than 
formerly  for  their  reclamation,  the  temptations  have  sa 
multiplied,  and  are  so  glaring,  that  child-life  is  ever  endan- 
gered. Some  have  special  drawbacks,  and,  however  strong- 
their  determination  to  live  honestty  and  work  honorably, 
they  are  borne  back  by  the  strong  tide  of  wickedness  as. 
it  rises  higher  year  by  year. 

Then  the  lack  of  charity  among  the  people  generally,  who, 
in  selfish  fear  of  being  "taken  in,"  drive  from  their  door  the 
ragged  urchin  looking  for  a  job  and  hopeful  of  a  chance. 
When  a  newsboy  was  offered  a  reward  for  tlie  brave  act 
of  saving  a  drowning  child,  he  promptly  declined,  saying : 
"  No,  tliankee ;  't  was  a  little  thing  for  me  to  do,  as  I  am 
a  reg'lar  water-dog,  and  I  hain't  earned  your  money.  But 
if  you  could  help  a  feller  to  a  sitiwation  where  he  'd  grow 


200  STBEET  AliABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXirES. 

up  'spectable  I  "d  be  weny  much  obliged."'  Yet  that  same 
lad,  who  afterward  became  quite  '•  'spectal)le,"  said  that  for 
years  wheu  he  ached  for  a  kiud  word,  or  a  job  of  work,  lie 
was  frowned  on  by  everybody  on  account  of  being  a  news- 
boy and  knowing  no  one  to  recommend  him.  We  are  so 
greedy  for  gain  we  never  think  of  taking  destitute  children 
under  our  wing,  give  them  practical  lessons  in  Inisiness,  even 
though  we  may  not  need  their  help,  and  fit  them  for  a  situa- 
tion elsewhere.  Boys,  and  girls  too,  in  certain  conditions 
look  upon  all  mankind  as  alike  —  their  enemies ;  and  feel 
deeply  aggrieved  that  they  are  without  rights  or  representa- 
tion. What  wonder  then  if  they  should  be  brought  to  view 
the  public  as  their  pre}',  or  seek  to  live  by  plunder. 

Oh !  the  hardships  and  hard  knocks  to  which  innocent 
children  are  subject.  Alas  !  that  we  have  allowed  them  drift 
before  our  very  ej'es  into  dee})er  depths  without  any  pains- 
taking effort  on  our  part  to  rescue  them  from  their  terrible 
surroundings.  Are  we  not  guilty  of  our  })rother's  blood? 
or  do  we  disclaim  being  our  brother's  keeper?  It  may  iiot 
be  an  easy  matter  to  rid  ourselves  of  the  responsibility,  or 
to  plead  exemption,  at  the  judgment  day. 

In  1877,  Mr.  Letchworth  gave  a  report  on  '^  Dependent  and 
Delincjuent  Children,"  before  a  conference  of  charities  at 
Saratoga.  In  the  debate  which  followed,  jVIr.  Tousey,  of  Ncav 
York,  said  :  — 

There  is  another  class  of  children  not  yet  referred  to,  that 
may  be  numbered  by  the  thousand,  who  are  not  idiots 
nor  truants  nor  criminals.  I  refer  to  the  neglected  ones. 
They  are  not  orphans  ;  they  have  something  that  answers  to 
the  name  of  home,  thcmgh  in  a  very  minute  degree  so  far  as 
home  comforts  are  concerned. 

I  wish  to  call  yovu'  attention  to  an  occurrence  whicli  took 
place  in  this  building  yesterday,  showing   one   type   of  this 


HABD  EXPEBIENCES. 


201 


neglected  class.  About  four  o'clock  I  went  down  to  the 
lock-up,  at  the  northeast  corner  of  this  edifice.  It  is  a 
miserable  place,  ill  ventilated  and  poorly  lighted.  When 
the  windows  are  closed  in  winter,  the  air,  I  am  told,  l)ecomes 


so  foul  from  the  drunk  and  disorderly  inmates  congregated 
there,  that  animal  life  is  sustained  with  great  difficulty.  On 
entering  I  found  two  decently  dressed  men,  and  a  little  boy, 
a  bootblack,  about  seven  or  eight  years  old.  I  asked  the 
jailer  :     '•  What  is  the  boy  here  for  ?  "     He   replied  :      "  For 


202  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

pilfering  fruit/'  Then  tuniiug  to  the  boy  I  said:  "Tommy, 
what  is  your  name  ?  "  '"  Jim  Sweeny."  "  Have  you  a 
father?"  "Yes."  "Does  he  know  you  are  here?"  "I 
don't  know  whether  he  does  or  not."  "  What  does  he  do 
for  a  living  ?  "  "  Don't  do  anything."  "  Do  you  ever  go  to 
Sunday-school  ?  "     "  No  ;    have  n't  got  any  clothes." 

Turning  to  the  jailer,  I  said :  "  What  do  you  know  about 
this  boy?  "  "  He  is  a  bad  boy,  and  he  is  connected  with  a 
gang  of  vagabonds  who  have  been  stealing  fruit  all  summer." 
"  What  do  you  know  about  his  father  ?  "  "  His  father  is 
known  as  '  Patsey  the  Dog,'  because  he  is  a  miserable 
drunken  scamp  who  goes  walking  around  the  streets,  and  if 
he  sees  a  stray  dog  anywhere  he  picks  liim  up,  keeps  him 
a  day  or  two,  and  then  sells  him  for  whiskey,  upon  whicli  he 
and  his  wife  get  drunk.  They  visit  tliis  police-court  very 
often.     I   am  afraid  this  boy  is  steering  in  the  same  way." 

Now  this  thing  Avill  go  on  for  a  Avhile.  By  and  by  when 
some  of  this  conference  are  visiting  the  State  prisons,  they 
will  find  that  boy  a  confirmed,  habitual  criminal.  Just  so 
sure  as  society  does  not  interfere  will  that  boy  become  so 
familiar  with  iron  bars  and  jail  life,  that  the  State  prison  will 
have  no  terrors  for  him,  and  when  at  length  he  arrives  at 
maturity,  he  will,  like  "  Margaret  the  mother  of  criminals," 
leave  children  to  follow  his  downward  course  in  crime,  and 
burden  the  State.  All  our  county  jails  are  contributing  to 
this  dreadful  result.  What  is  to  l)e  done  under  these 
circumstances?  The  gentleman  from  Michigan  told  us  that 
the  State  assumed  a  superiority  over  the  parent  in  its  control 
and  care  of  the  child.  This  is  the  only  correct  principle. 
Parental  rights  are  all  very  well,  but  the  State  has  a  right 
over  the  parent,  and  it  should  come  in  by  its  superior  power 
and  take  hold  of  the  child  of  Patsey  the  Dog,  remove 
him  from  the  influences  that  surround  him,  and  preserve  him 
from  becoming  a  criminal,  by  placing  him  under  better  ijiflu- 


HARD  EXPERIENCES.  203 

ences.  We  have  no  institution  for  such  children.  The 
nearest  to  it  is  that  known  as  "  The  Society  for  the  Preven- 
tion of  Cruelty  to  Children."  Its  powers  and  duties,  how- 
ever, are  not  of  a  class  to  embrace  the  hoy  I  have  described, 
and  we  still  need  a  provision  for  such  children  as  the  son  of 
Patsey  the  Dog.  Society  must  rescue  tliese  neglected  ones 
from  their  evil  surroundings,  or  its  burdens  of  crime  and 
misery  will  be  greater  than  can  be  borne. 

No  city  of  the  world,  perhaps,  or  at  least  of  Christendom^ 
contains  a  gr-eater  number  of  "  Arabs,"  or  in  such  extensive 
variety,  as  London.  Nor  certainly  does  any  other  city  fur- 
nish such  a  host  of  devoted  Christian  philanthropists.  In 
addition  to  numberless  organizations  devoted  to  the  reclama- 
tion of  the  fallen,  a  strong  phalanx  of  consecrated  men  and 
women,  on  their  own  personal  responsibility,  devote  their 
lives  to  this  work.  Foremost  among  these  is  Dr.  Barnardo, 
who  has  these  many  years  given  a  home  to  at  least  07ie  thou- 
sand waifs.,  besides  incidentally  benefiting  thousands  annually 
of  the  same  class.     Thus  his  work  has  been  described :  — 

He  was  gradually  led  to  devote  liimself  to  the  more  hope- 
less class,  whose  reckless  ways  defied  all  rule,  in  the  belief 
that  the  gospel  of  Christ  has  power  to  subdue  the  most 
hardened.  As  the  work  grew  under  his  hands,  prayer  was 
its  chief  instrument,  and  love  the  energy  by  which  it  i^re- 
vailed.  It  was  soon  felt  that  the  intervals  between  the 
religious  teaching  of  the  Sundays,  in  whicli  the  children 
were  exposed  to  every  evil  influence,  weakened  impressions 
which  more  frequent  intercourse  might  deepen.  A  little 
room  was  taken  and  opened  for  boys  every  night  in  the  week. 
It  was  presently  crowded  with  rough,  noisy  lads,  who  scan- 
dalized the  neighborhood.  People  so  complained  of  the 
uproar  that  removal   after   removal   was   made.     With  but 


204  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

one  helper,  Dr.  Barnardo  lield  linn  to  his  })urpose.  At  length 
he  was  enabled  to  secnre  possession  of  two  cottages  in  a 
fitting  locality,  and  there  the  work  began  on  a  larger  scale. 

The  audiences  that  gathered  were  of  the  roughest  order. 
Strange  scenes  occurred.  There  was  hooting,  yelling,  fight- 
ing. Boys  would  throw  pepper  on  the  fire,  or  begrime  the 
faces  of  comrades  with  soot.  Outsiders  jeered,  and  threw 
mud  or  stones  at  the  teachers ;  but  the  blessing  of  God 
followed  their  perseverance.  In  due  time  there  was  a 
change.  Not  unfrequently  the  hardened  offender  would 
quail  under  the  steady  eye  and  the  more  piercing  word.  A 
lad  has  been  known  to  go  out  and  say:  "I  don't  care  for 
'bobby'  or  'beak,'  but  I  can't  stand  that."  Often  the 
truth  went  deeper.  Big  fellows,  who  used  to  curse  and  fight, 
became  willing  helpmates.  Another  cottage  was  taken,  and 
the  work  steadily  expanded.  Presently  there  were  more 
than  seven  hundred  scholars  in  the  schools.  Night  after 
night  the  little  services  were  continued.  Fathers  and 
mothers  became  interested.  Soon  a  hall  was  built  for  adults 
to  meet  in ;  there  were  numerous  conversions,  and  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  genuine  revival  was  felt  in  the  neighborhood. 
Gradually  other  means  of  usefulness  were  added  to  the 
original  work.  Schools  for  secular  instruction  were  opened, 
sewing-classes  were  established,  a  system  of  weekly  dinners 
provided  for  the  destitute,  and  other  machinery  of  an  exten- 
sive mission  set  in  operation. 

Dr.  Barnardo  has  himself  told  the  incident  which  was 
mainly  instrumental  in  shaping  liis  own  course,  and  leading 
him  to  abandon  other  plans  for  this  work.  One  evening, 
after  the  ragged-school,  a  little  boy  loitered  behind,  and 
begged  for  leave  to  sleep  in  the  I'oom.  C(niversation  brought 
out  the  fact  that  he  had  neither  fatlier  nor  mother,  and  that 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  out  in  the  streets  Avhere  lie 
could  find  a  nestling-place,  and  tliat  the  night  l)efore  he  had 


THE   STREET    BOY'S    BED. 


HARD  EXPERIENCES.  207 

slept  in  a  hay-cart.  The  talk  of  this  tiny  lad  of  ten  years 
opened  at  that  moment  quite  a  new  sense  of  the  appalling 
destitution  to  be  found  in  the  streets  of  wealthy  London. 
Dr.  Barnardo  was  then  comparatively  inexperienced.  "  Are 
there  many  such  boys  sleeping  out?"  he  asked;  and  the 
little  fellow  replied :  "  O,  yes,  sir  —  lots,  'eaps  on  'em  — 
mor  'n  I  could  count ! "  He  took  the  boy  home,  sat  him 
down  at  his  bachelor  table,  and  let  him  talk  under  the 
novel  inspiration  of  coffee  and  a  warm  fireside.  It  was  a  sad 
story  he  had  to  tell  —  how  mother  had  died,  and  *he  had  lived 
on  a  barge  with  Swearing  Dick,  who  beat  him  cruelly,  but 
at  hist  enlisted,  in  a  drunken  fit,  wlien  the  boy  ran  away ; 
and  how  since  he  had  picked  up  anything  he  could  in  the 
streets.  Then  the  conversation  turned  to  brighter  things. 
They  talked  of  heaven,  and  "Our  Father"  there.  "But, 
sir,"  —  and  then  suddenly  came  a  look  of  earnest  inquiry 
into  the  child's  face, — ^"will  Swearin'  Dick  be  there?  and 
will  there  be  any  bobbies  ?  "  What  a  depth  of  pathos  in 
this  fear  of  the  homeless  street-boy  !  "  Every  one  that  goes 
there  must  love  Jesus,"  was  the  rej^ly.  "Have  you  ever 
heard  of  Him  ? "  The  child  nodded  assent ;  but  it  soon 
appeared  that  his  knowledge  was  total  ignorance.  He 
listened  attentively  to  the  story  of  the  cross.  When  he 
heard  of  the  scourging  and  the  crown  of  thorns,  he  eagerly 
asked :  "  Were  they  the  perlice,  sir  ?  "  And  he  burst  into 
crying  as  he  heard,  for  the  first  time,  the  liistory  of  the 
crucifixion.  Little  Tim  led  the  way  that  midnight  to  the 
sleeping  quarters  of  some  of  his  companions.  Dr.  Barnardo 
followed  through  lane  and  court  to  a  long  shed,  which  served 
as  a  market-place  in  tlie  daytime  for  cast-off  clothes ;  and, 
climbing  the  high  dead-wall  at  one  end,  he  found  eleven 
boys  huddled  together  in  deep  sleep  on  the  roof.  It  was 
enough;  he  would  not  wake  them  till  he  could  help  them. 
It    was    an  easy  thing  to  make  provision  for  Tim  ;    and  in 


208  STEEET  ARABS  AXD  (iUTTER  SNIPES. 

after  days  he  amply  repaid  the  care  that  surrounded  him 
from  that  time.  But  there  was  a  greater  work  to  be  done ; 
and  this  sight  of  the  sleeping  boys  so  impressed  itself  on  the 
vision  that  all  other  aims  seemed  now  subordinated  to  the 
rescue  of  these  outcasts.  Yet  such  a  sight  was  not  a  rare 
one  to  men  who  knew  the  darker  side  of  London  life.  On 
a  subsequent  occasion,  as  many  as  seventy-three  children  were 
found  lying  closely  2:)acked  together.,  under  tarpaulins  in  an 
unfrequented  street  by  one  of  the  river  wharves. 

The  next  step  was  to  open  a  Home  for  Working  and 
Destitute  Lads,  and  this  was  accomplished  in  September, 
1870.  A  house  was  taken  in  Stepney  Causeway,  an  unattrac- 
tive by-street,  and  fitted  up  for  the  purpose.  During  the 
first  year  eighty-nine  boys  were  admitted ;  but,  as  means 
allowed,  another  house  was  added  and  fresh  accommodation 
provided,  so  that  there  are  now  one  hundred  and  thirty-five 
boys  in  the  institution,  and  from  the  commencement  several 
hundreds  have  passed  through  it.  Boys  are  received  who 
come  from  the  country,  or  are  engaged  in  work,  and 
have  no  friends  in  town,  on  payment  of  a  small  sum  from 
their  weekly  wages ;  but,  from  the  first,  two  thirds  of  the 
whole  space  has  been  devoted  to  the  really  destitute  boys 
of  the  street.  A  strange  history  attaches  to  some  of  these 
lads,  who  have  been  picked  up  in  all  parts  of  London,  in 
rags  and  filth,  and  with  the  deeper  stains  of  vice  upon  them. 
On  their  first  admission  they  are  placed  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  and  sleep  on  a  simple  bed  of  canvas  sacking,  with  one 
blanket  to  wrap  them,  in  a  well-ventilated,  orderly  room, 
which  is  a  mansion  to  them  after  their  out-door  experiences ; 
and  as  tliey  descend  lower,  as  vacancies  occur  and  good 
behavior  warrants,  their  privileges  and  comforts  increase. 
No  boy  enters  the  institution  but  tlirough  Dr.  Barnardo's 
room,  and  from  his  entrance  he  is  taught  to  feel  that  there 
is  hope  before  him. 


HARD  EXPEEIEXGES.  209 

No  difficulty  has  been  experienced  in  maintaining  disci- 
pline. Private  expostulation  is  often  found  to  be  more 
effectual  than  open  punishment.  The  "  father  "  who  pre- 
sides in  the  house  is  an  old  ragged-school  teacher;  the 
"  mother  "  shares  his  oversight.  One  schoolmaster  suffices. 
The  boys,  as  they  are  old  enough,  are  taught  useful  trades  — 
brush-making,  shoe-making,  tailoring  —  in  convenient  shops 
on  the  premises ;  they  make  all  the  shoes  and  clothes  of 
their  companions,  and  do  much  work  beside.  Some  have 
emigrated,  but  the  majority  are  trained  for  home  occupations, 
and  the  demand  for  the  lads  at  present  exceeds  the  supply 
of  efficient  hands.  The  severer  employments  of  the  day  are 
enlivened  by  cheerful  exercises,  such  as  singing  and  drilling. 
And  so  the  work  goes  forward,  the  religious  motive  being 
always  paramount.  The  funds,  which  are  dependent  upon 
variable  contributions,  have  never  failed,  though  sometimes 
low,  and  sometimes  for  a  while  insufficient ;  fresh  building- 
operations  have  sometimes  l)een  suspended,  but  debt  has 
never  been  incurred.  Tlie  i)rinciple  which  has  so  effectuallv 
sustained  Mr.  Miiller  in  his  great  W(n-k  at  Bristol  appears 
to  have  been  relied  on  in  this  instance,  with  corresponding- 
results.  The  work  now  embraces  the  rescue  of  little'  destitute 
girls. 

Meanwhile,  the  earlier  work  of  the  ragged-schools  has  been 
maintained,  and  other  agencies  have  clustered  round  it. 
These  schools  are  the  headquarters  of  a  Wood-Cutting 
Brigade  for  boys,  and  a  City  Messenger  Brigade,  which 
keeps  seventy  lads,  all  clothed  in  uniform,  running  about 
on  daily  errands.  There  is  a  laundry  for  tlie  women ;  and 
there  are  sewing-classes ;  and,  during  the  colder  weather, 
a  soup-kitchen  is  in  constant  operation.  There  are  also 
other  agencies,  which  we  need  not  enumerate,  but  we  should 
mention  among  them  a  shop  for  the  distribution  of  pure 
literature. 


21U  STREET  AltABS  AND  GUTTER  SXII'KS. 

During  the  summer  a  large  tent  had  been  erected,  in  which 
religious  services  Avere  held  every  evening,  and  the  simple 
truths  of  the  gospel  preached  by  those  accustomed  to  deal 
with  the  working-classes.  The  kind  of  persuasion  exerted 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  during  these  months  more 
than  two  thousand  persons  signed  the  total  abstinence 
pledge ;  but  it  is  due  to  say  that  the  claims  of  spiritual 
religion  were  never  subordinated  to  resolutions  for  social 
reform.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  opportunity  offered  for 
acquiring  the  ''  Edinboro'  Castle,"  a  noted  public-house, 
which  was  at  once  seized  by  Dr.  Barnardo.  The  place  was 
offered  for  sale,  and  the  amount  required  was  forthcoming  as 
soon  as  the  facts  were  known.  Within  a  fortnight  a  large 
sum  was  sent  into  Stepney  Causeway ;  but  scarcely  liad  the 
deposit  been  paid,  and  a  day  fixed  for  the  completion  of  the 
transaction,  than  some  one  in  the  interest  of  the  drink-traftic 
oifered  another  $2,500  ;  and  the  building  would  have  passed 
to  the  highest  bidder,  if  tlie  whole  of  the  purchase-money  had 
not  been  forthcoming  on  the  appointed  day.  It  is  a  singular 
fact  that  on  the  morning  of  that  day  the  sum  in  hand 
amounted  to  iit'20,450,  but  that  a  gentleman  then  unex- 
pectedly called  and  said  he  wished  ''  to  fire  a  hundred- 
pounder  at  the  Castle"  (!|500),  and  that  the  post  subse- 
quently brought  another  -fSO,  making  in  all  ff 21,000,  the  exact 
sum  needed,  within  tlie  hour  re([uired.  So  the  purchase  was 
effected  and  the  transforuuition  made.  A  considerable  sum 
has  since  been  contributed  and  sjient  in  the  necessary 
adaptations.  The  Coffee  Palace  is  noAv  opened  at  five 
o'clock  every  morning,  and  working-men  who  are  early 
abroad  can  have  their  cup  of  coffee  without  the  two  penny- 
worth of  rum,  wliich  is  the  usual  infusion  of  the  pul)lic- 
houses.  All  day  long  its  rooms  are  at  their  command;  bat 
the  great  "  music-hall "  is  reserved  for  religious  services. 
The  rector  of  the  parish  was  present  at  the  opening  meeting. 


INDUSTRY. 


HABD  EXPEBIENCES.  213 

when  the  hall  was  crowded  with  two  thousand  people,  and 
expressed  his  deepest  regret  that  he  had  not  had  the  honor 
to  stand  forth  at  an  earlier  period  and  take  part  in  this  work, 
which  filled  him  now  with  thankfulness  and  wonder.  The 
following  inscription  is  emblazoned  across  the  wall  of  the 
l^rincipal  coffee-room:  "The  'Edinburgh  Castle,'  formerly 
used  as  a  Gin  Palace  and  Concert-Room,  was  opened  on 
Friday,  February  14,  1873,  as  a  Working-Man's  Club  and 
Coffee  Palace,  by  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Shaftes- 
bury." 

A  lady  Avho  has  a  singing-class  for  poor  lads,  as  a  means 
toward  their  rescue,  writes  :  — 

At  one  of  the  meetings,  I  noticed  a  young  lad  of  fifteen 
seated  with  the  rest,  looking  anxious,  very  timid,  and  very 
poor,  and  not  long  afterward  I  got  from  him  his  story, 
which  ran  as  follows  :  — 

"  My  mother  's  dead  ;  father  and  the  two  little  uns  are  in 
the  poorhouse.  I  've  a  sister  wot 's  in  service  over  the  water, 
and  a  big  brother  ;  but  he  's  ill  now,  so  I  hear,  and  he  's  out 
of  work." 

"  Where  does  your  brother  live  ?  "  '"  I  don't  know  ;  I  've 
not  seen  him  for  a  long  time." 

"  Did  your  father  drink  ? "  "  Yes,  that 's  why  he  's  in 
that  tliere  place  now.  He  used  to  come  home  and  knock 
mother  about,  so  as  she  left  home  for  weeks,  afeard  to  come 
home  ;  but  she  's  dead  now." 

"  How  do  you  get  your  living  ?  "  '•  Wal,  I  used  to  sleep 
out  o'  nights,  like  '  Ginger  '  and  them  two,"  pointing  to  two 
lads.  "For  three  years  I  did  that,  but  I  had  enough  of  it; 
and  one  day,  as  I  Avere  in  the  lodgin'-'ouse,  guv'nor  comes  up 
to  me,  and  he  says,  if  I  helped  him  to  wash  up  the  dishes 
and  clean  up  the  place  he  would  let  me  sleep  there  for 
nothin''  and  give  me  money  for  my  grub  ;  and  I  stayed  there 


214 


STREET  All ABS  AXD  G  UTTER  SNIPES. 


ever  since.  I  had  enough  o'  sleepin'  out  in  them  wagons." 
Soon  after  this  conversation  I  went  up  to  the  hidging- 
house  he  referred  to,  where  J  found  that  lie  had  told  nie  the 
truth,  and  I  was  told  that  lie  was  a  very  good  la(h  But  it 
was  not  lono-  after  this  when  at  one  of  the  meetings  I  found 


"Jumbo"  k)oking  very  low-spirited.  Presently  I  heard  hnn 
saying  to  one  of  the  lads,  ^  T  ain't  a-goin'  to  lodgin'-'ouse 
to-night;  I  "m  goin"  to  sleep  out  to-night."  "What  are  you 
saying?"  I  asked.  "  Wal,  iiiuiii,"'  he  said,  in  rather  subdued 
tones,  "  guv'nor  knocked  me  about  this  morning,  and  I  ain't 
a-goin'  back  to   him  no   more."      ^  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  I 


I 


HABD  EXTEBIEXCES.  215 

said.  "  Wal,  I  sleeps  overlate  tliis  mornin',  and  guv'nor 
conies  upstairs  with  a  strap,  and  pulls  me  out  o'  bed,  and 
begins  leatherin'  nie  about ;  so  I  ain't  goin'  back  to  Mm  no 
more,"  Avith  a  determined  toss  of  tlie  head.  He  never  did 
go  back  again,  except  as  a  visitor,  and  has  now  to  walk  the 
streets  or  take  refuge  in  some  corner  of  a  stable  or  wagon, 
like  the  others,  when  he  has  not  saved  enough  during  the 
day  to  pay  for  his  bed. 

"  Parrot "  is  seventeen  years  of  age.  Of  him,  one  of  his 
companions  said  to  me  two  years  ago,  and  in  desperate  earn- 
estness: "Satan  is  in  him,  mum  ;  if  we  could  only  get  Parrot 
away  from  here,  we  might  get  on  then,  but  it 's  useless  tryin' 
to  be  good  while  he  is  round  here."  I  am  glad  to  say,  how- 
ever, tliat,  bad  as  Parrot  used  to  be,  he  is  now  much 
altered  for  the  better,  although  I  must  admit  that  his  char- 
acter still  aftbrds  room  for  further  improvement.  Poor 
Parrot  is  much  to  be  pitied.  He  has  no  father,  and 
in  speaking  to  him  al;)out  his  mother  one  evening,  I  was 
greatly  struck  with  the  disrespectful  tone  of  voice  he  used. 
"  Kindness,  indeed !  She  don't  care  about  me,  she  don't," 
in  a  despairing  tone.  "  She  turned  me  out  the  other  night 
'cause  I  was  late,  and  I  had  to  join  them  two  in  the  wagons  "  ; 
this  with  a  sneer  and  an  expression  of  utter  disgust,  not  only 
with  his  mother's  conduct,  but  with  the  world  in  general. 

Parrot  has  been  one  of  the  most  regular  attendants  at 
the  little  room,  and  many  a  time  in  leaving  he  has  said  half- 
jokingly  to  me  :  "  Won't  you  let  us  stay  and  watch  that  there 
lump  o'  coal  out?  We  will  be  good,  an'  them  boys  wot's 
gone  won't  know."  And  I  knew  it  did  them  more  good 
to  "  watch  that  lump  o'  coal  go  out "  than  to  loiter  outside 
exposed  to  dangerous  temptations.  Permission  therefore 
has  been  often  given  to  a  few  to  remain  behind  after  the 
meeting  has  dispersed.  Then  they  would  sit  round  the  fire, 
I  taking  up  needle  and  cotton  and  trying  not  to  listen  to  all 
that  was  saying  between  niy  young  friends. 


21G  STliEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

"  Now,  then,*"'  says  "•  Croppy,"  "  let 's  liave  liymn  45." 
''  No,"  says  Jumbo,  "  106."  "  No,  let 's  sing  114,  that 's 
a  fine  nn."      "  '  Blessed    Jesus,'  that 's  my  favorite  ;    that 's 

best,  isn't  it.  Missus  H ?"  appealing  to  me;  and  so  they 

would  go  on  thrinigh  nearly  half  of  the  well-known  Sankey's 
"Sacred  Songs  and  Solos."  At  another  time  it  would  l)e  a 
talk  about  what  happened  during  the  day,  or  about  "•  that 
duffer  wot  stabbed  another  in  tlie  back." 

"Was  it  up  in  your  yard.  Croppy?"  "Yes,  o'  course  it 
was."  "An'  did  yer  know  him?"  "Ay,  an'  a  rare  bad  un 
he  is  too." 

Or  it  might  be  about  "  Ofd  Copper."  "  Just  as  I  wur 
a-comin'  round  the  corner,  he  comes  up  to  me,  an'  slap  he 
goes  [at  the  same  time  imitating  it]  in  my  face,  till  I  goes 
spinnin'  on  to  the  other  side."  "  What  were  3'ou  doing, 
Jerry,  that  the  policeman  should  do  that  to  you?  "  "Nothin', 

Missus  H ,  they  allers  boxes  us  if  we  stand  still ;  we  'as 

to  move  on."  "But  surely  you  must  have  been  doing  some- 
thing very  wrong  before  the  policeman  would  have  beaten 
you  like  that?  "  "No,  mum  !  no  !  "  from  all ;  "Copper  allers 
does  that!"  "Why,  t' otlier  night,"  said  Bill,  "me  an'  Jack 
was  rather  late  a-goin'  home,  an'  he  says  to  me  somethin' 
an'  just  then  old  Copper  comes  up  an'  fetched  me  such 
a  clout  on  my  head,  an'  says,  '  Take  that !  wot  are  you 
a-doin'  of  here.'  We  says,  '  Nothin' ' ;  an'  he  says,  '  You 
l)e  off,  or '." 

The  other  evening,  finding  one  of  the  most  hopeful  of  my 
lads  looking  pale  and  ill,  and  with  a  very  bad  cough,  I  sug- 
gested to  him  to  make  haste  home  as  soon  as  he  could,  and 
go  to  bed.  The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  replied :  "  I  have 
no  place  to  go  to,  mum ;  they  won't  let  me  go  home.  I  had 
to  sleep  out  in  a  cab  last  night,  and  I  've  caught  this  cold 
through  it."  '^  Was  it  the  first  time^^ou  slept  out?"  "  O, 
no  !  "    Jim  answered,  "  for  I  've  often  found  him  a  bed  in 


HABD  EXPERIENCES. 


217 


the  stables."     "  But  why  do  you  sleep  out  ?  "     "  Why,  mmn, 

"cause  father  wou't  let  me  go  home  'cause  I  Ve  got  no  work." 

Another  lad  of  seventeen  told  me  the  same  story  about 

himself.     "  Father  won't  let  me  go  home  until  I  find  work." 

"  But  do  you  try  to  get  work  ?  "    "Yes,  Missus  H ,  but 's 

no  use  on  me  goin'  home,  father  '11  only  nag  me  and  knock 
me  about."     This  lad's  mother  came  to  me  the  other  day, 


with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to  thank  me  for  my  kindness  to  her 
son.  She  herself  would  gladly  have  her  son  home,  even 
when  he  had  no  work.  "  But  his  father,"  she  said,  "•  has 
such  a  bad  stubl)orn  temper,  and  he  is  very  angry  with  me 
for  taking  his  part."  "  But  has  he  considered  that  he  forces 
his  son  down  to  the  level  of  the  beasts  of  the  field?  Does 
he  know  that  he  has  to  sleep  with  horses  ?  or  may  have  to 
walk  the  streets  all  night  and  be  tempted  to  steal  ?  "     She 


218  STIIEET  AliABS  AXD  UUTTEll  SNIPES. 

bux'st  into  ;i  flood  of  tears.  "  Oli  I  "  she  said,  "  my  poor,  poor 
boy!" 

The  other  lad,  who  was  still  crying,  said  :  "  We  has  all  to 
fly  when  father  comes  home,  he  is  always  a  naggin'  and 
leatherin'  us  about,  and  my  sister  sha'n't  sleep  home  when 
she  has  no  woVk  in  the  factory."  "I  suppose  your  father 
gets  drunk?"'  **  I  spects  he  does."  "Well,  don't  cry,  my 
poor  lad,  God  will  take  care  of  you  if  you  will  only  ask  him."' 

*' Jimmy,"  another  boy  who  works  at  the  stables,  and  who 
looks  most  unhappy,  has  been  lately  out  of  work  for  some 
weeks.  Seeing  him  looking  so  miserable  I  could  not  help 
saying  to  him,  "Don't  you  feel  well,  Jimmy?"    "No,  Missus 

H ,"  he  replied,  quietly.    "  What  makes  you  so  unhappy  ? 

Have  you  done  something  wrong  at  home  ?  "     "  No,  Missus 

H ,  only  I  've  been  out  o'  Avork,  and  they  won't  let  me 

go  home  only  to  sleep.  I  've  to  find  ni}^  grub  and  it  "s  hard 
work." 

I  append  a  list  of  specimen  cases  of  poor  girls  who  have 
come  under  the  watchful  ej'e  of  a  friend  :  — 

1.  My  parents  are  both  dead;  my  father  died  first.  My 
mother  married  again ;  then  she  died.  My  stepfather 
married  again ;  his  new  wife  and  myself  did  liot  agree, 
and  I  had  to  leave  the  house.  I  went  to  service,  Avent 
out  for  a  holiday  when  my  time  came,  became  acquainted 
with  a  young  man,  lost  my  character  and  my  situation. 
Went  on  the  streets,  and  lived  with  another  young  man, 
who  locked  me  in  one  room  all  day,  only  letting  me  out 
in  the  evening.  I  could  not  have  come  to  you  to-day,  but  T 
heard  of  you  and  climbed  out  of  the  AAdndow.  I  must  go 
back  again  l)efore  he  comes  home,  or  he  will  beat  me  dread- 
fully, as  he  has  often  done  before. 

2.  I  lived  at  home  with  father  and  mother,  till  both  died. 
I  had  no  brothers  or  sisters,  no  one  to  care  for  me  ;  but  I 


HABD  EXPEBIENCES.  '  219 

got  a  little  place  ;  and  though  the  work  was  dreadful  hard  I 
stopped  at  it  as  long  as  I  could  ;  but  I  got  tired  at  last,  and 
gave  a  week's  notice,  and  left,  thinking  to  get  an  easier 
jDlace.  I  had  a  few  shillings  and  some  clothes,  and  I  went 
with  some  girls  that  I  knew,  till  my  money  and  clothes  were 
gone ;  then  they  Avanted  me  to  do  as  they  did,  but  I  could  not. 
So  I  had  to  leave  them,  and  go  about  to  stations  and  refuges 
till  now.  But  I  can't  go  any  longer.  I  'm  so  sick,  and  weak, 
and  filthy,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die  in  the  street.  Do  take 
pity  on  me,  and  hel})  me !  Indeed,  indeed,  I  have  not  done 
any  wrong ;  onl}^  I  'm  nearl}'  dead  with  hunger  and  cold. 

This  dreadful  story  was  literally  true.  We  took  her  in, 
fed  her,  sent  her  to  a  refuge  ;  thence  she  was  transferred  to 
a  hospital,  and  there  the  doctor  said  she  was  a  gotid,  honest 
girl,  all  but  starved.  Her  garments  were  so  filthy,  as  to  be 
burned  as  they  were  cut  away  from  her. 

3.  A  girl  aged  nine,  both  feet  turned  inward  ,  on  the 
crippled  feet  rags,  covered  by  wrecks  of  woman's  boots  tied 
round  the  ankles  with  cotton ;  clothing  ragged  and  very 
scant ;  stomach  empty  and  craving.  j\Iother  never  married  ; 
quite  willing  to  part  with  her. 

4.  A  baby-child,  with  an  angel-face  ;  carried  easily  in  her 
mother's  arms ;  seven  years  old.  The  mother  asks  a  portion 
of  the  children's  dinner  for  the  pretty  child  who  has  never 
walked  to  get  one  yet.  The  mother  had  three  at  once  when 
this  was  born,  the  luisband  lying  dead  in  the  house  at  the 
time.  Since  then  she  has  worked  on,  earning  a  living  for 
all  until  rheumatic  fever  sent  her  to  the  hospital,  and  the 
children  to  the  union.  Recovered  and  al)le  to  work; 
strong,  hopeful,  and  self-reliant.  So  the  widow  and  orphan- 
cripple's  story  is  told.  ''  Will  you  part  with  her  ?  "  "  Rather 
all  the  rest,  sir ;  but,  if  I  could  see  her  sometimes,  I  Avould, 
thankfully."  Thank  God  for  the  love-look  on  this  true 
mother's  face  as  she  glances  on  her  child  ! 


220  STBEET  AliABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

The  city  luissiomiry  is  always  competent  to  speak  on  the 
dark  side  of  life.     One  of  these  brave  men  thns  discourses : 

"  Keep  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  please.  I  do  not 
suppose  that  any  one  will  molest  us ;  but  that  good  hat  of 
yours  might  suddenly  disappear  down  either  of  these  courts. 
Neither  you  nor  I  would  see  the  conveyancer,  or  know  anj'- 
thing  of  him,  but  the  hat  would  be  gone ;  and  it  is  better  to 
be  safe  than  sorry.  This  is  not  a  good  street  by  any  means^ 
seeing  in  all  its  half  mile  of  squalid  houses  about  the  hardest 
things  to  find  would  be  honest  men  or  decent  Avomen.  As 
to  the  courts  and  passages  on  either  hand  —  keep  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  please." 

As  we  go,  you  find  you  could  conveniently  dispense  with 
three  of  3'our  five  senses  —  hearing,  seeing,  and  scent  —  for 
the  time  being  !  Can  taste  the  foul  air,  can  you  ?  Ah !  you 
are  not  used  to  it !  "  Likely  to  cause  fever  ?  "  Plenty  of 
that,  always ;  not  long  since  I  heard  they  took  sixty  cases  in 
a  week  from  one  street  close  by.  Beware  of  that  heap  with 
decaying  cabbage  leaves  forming  the  summit !  Don't  tread 
in  the  gutter  if  you  can  possibly  avoid  doing  so  ;  but  turn 
in  here,  for  we  have  reached  the  lodging-house  I  intend  to 
visit,  and  we  will  enter.  "Knock?"  We  shall  be  the  first 
that  ever  did  so,  and,  as  I  don't  wish  to  attract  a  crowd, 
we  will  enter  without  that  ceremony.  Notice  the  little 
hatch  at  the  entry,  and  the  hideously  ugly  old  woman  behind 
it.  She  takes  the  money  there  —  fourpence  for  a  night, 
two  sliillings  for  a  week  ;  no  credit,  and  no  embarrassing 
questions  asked. 

The  room  is  burning  hot ;  an  immense  fire  of  coke  is  in 
the  old-fashioned  grate  ;  an  iron  kettle  with  a  tap,  full  of 
boiling  water,  on  one  side  ;  on  the  other  a  large  frying-pan, 
not  just  now  in  use.  Twenty  or  thirty  women,  lads,  and 
gii'ls,  are  in  the  rough  boxes  or  upon  the  benches  r(nnid  the 
room.     A  filthy  table  occupies  all  the  centre,  and  food  of 


HABD  EXPEBIENCE8. 


221 


many  kinds  is  upon  it.  Glance  at  the  medley :  tripe, 
sausages,  red  herrings,  faggots,  fried  fish,  bacon,  greens, 
potatoes,  pudding,  and  bread  that  might  have  been  clean 
once.  Raise  joux  eyes  from  the  food  to  the  owners  around. 
Girls,  with  clean  faces  and  well-arranged  hair,  clean  print 
dresses,  and  heavy  boots  (often  used  for  weapons) ;  but 
wearing  neither  bonnet  nor  shawl  in  or  out  of  the  house. 
Older  women,  clearly  from  the  country,  and  on  tramp ; 
silent,  scared,  intensely  mis- 
erable; probably  straight 
from  some  rose-trellised 
country  home  into  this 
horrible  den.  Aged  women, 
seamed  and  scarred,  ho})eless 
and  degraded,  smoking  short 
pipes  of  strong  tobacco  as 
coolly  as  high-bred  fast 
ladies.  Lads,  with  round 
hats  with  short  pipes  in  the 
bands;    short-haired,    liigh 

cheekboned,  soft-handed,  ready  for  anything  but  work. 
Elder  men  of  tlie  same  stamp  and  calibre,  but  hardened  and 
enlarged ;  among  them  the  liusbands  of  the  countrywomen, 
rawboned  and  helpless.  Old  men  wlio  carry  advertising 
boards,  give  out  bills,  receive  outdoor  parish  relief,  and  whine 
and  beg  at  midnight  round  the  carriages  that  roll  away  from 
the  doors  of  theatres. 

Waiting  upon  them  all  indiscriminately,  the  one  attendant 
of  the  place,  blind  of  one  eye,  glaring  horribly  with  the 
other,  which  is  blackened  by  a  blow,  a  blotched  inflamed 
face,  and  a  wide  mouth,  almost  always  grinning,  and  able  to 
convey  downward  any  quantit}^  of  beer,  ale,  gin,  or  rum. 
that  may  come  without  paying  for.  A  guernsey  not  quite 
clean,    cord    trousers,    thick    boots,    no    stockings,   j^owerful 


222  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

body,  strong  arms  and  legs  to  match,  —  so  Joey  stands 
before  us,  grinning  as  usual,  and  quite  ready  for  agreeable 
conversation. 

Now,  my  dear  friend,  don't  take  me  seriously  by  the 
button,  look  grievedly  in  my  face,  and  ask :  "  Why  paint 
such  scenes?"  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  our  fello^y- 
travelers  to  the  judgment  seat  know  nothing  better  from 
birth  to  death.  The  men  and  women  and  —  God  pity  them  I 
—  the  little  children  are  there;  and,  it  may  be,  our  Judge 
will  ask  hereafter  whether  we  knew  of  these  human  brethren 
and  sisters,  and  what  we  did  for  them  ?  With  this  inter- 
jection we  will  return  to  Joey,  and  commence  conversation. 

"  Back  again  from  your  last  six  weeks'  temporary  retire- 
ment, Joey,  and  not  looking  much  the  worse  for  it.  But 
how  came  your  eye  painted  so  soon  again,  eh  ?  " 

"  Veil,  guv'nor,  to  tell  truth,  it  vos  n't  meant  for  me  ;  I 
stepped  in  between  Tom  an'  his  old  'ooman,  an'  ketched  it 
hot ;  she  or  the  little  un  would  ha'  had  it  bad,  else,  for  Tom 
was  mad  drunk  an'  hit  out  savage.  But  he  stood  a  quart 
ven  he  got  round,  an'  there  's  no  bones  broken  atween  us. 
How  ha'  you  been  yerself,  guv'nor  ? " 

"  I  've  been  in  the  lake  district,  Joey,  where  water  runs 
clear  from  the  hillsides  ;  the  air  is  so  bright  it  makes  your 
eyes  ache  at  first,  and  you  can  get  wild  raspberries  and 
strawberries  as  fast  as  you  can  pick  them." 

"Ain't  never  seen  nuftin'  like  iAai,  guv'nor ;  seen  plenty  o' 
ferns  an'  flowers  in  the  market.  I  seen  the  sea  vunce.  an' 
said  it  vos  a  green  field,  an'  a  fine  place  to  lie  down  an' 
smoke  a  pipe  in.  I  seen  the  difference  ven  'I  got  closer. 
But  that  'ere  about  the  fruit  ain't  easy  to  b'lieve,  guv'nor." 

"  Quite  true,  Joe}',  as  thousands  know ;  why  do  you  doul)t 
it  so  much  ?  " 

"  Vy,  d'  3'e  see,  guv"nor,  all  as  1  "ve  ever  seen  b'longs  to 
somebody  ;  as  yer  soon  finds  out  if  yer  go  an'  take  it  as  you 


'Clean,  neatly  dressed,  fresh  colored,  and  very  quiet  in  manner, — there  she  stood,"    (PageSPD.l 


HABD  EXPEBIEXCES.  225 

says.  I  took  some  vunce,  ven  I  vos  a  kid,*  an'  I  had  to  do 
twenty-eight  days  for  that  bit.  I  done  many  a  bit  since 
longer  an'  shorter,  but  1  don't  forget  that  fust  bit ;  how 
lonely  an'  cold  I  vos  of  a  niglit,  an'  how  I  had  to  valk  round, 
vith  the  high  vails  lookin'  down  on  me,  for  exercise.  Been 
used  to  it  since,  knows  the  vays,  an'  lost  all  care  about  it 
long  ago." 

"  But  is  n't  there  a  prison  ahead,  Joey,  where  you  will 
have  to  care,  unless  you  take  good  advice,  and  get  on  the 
safe  side." 

"Now,  guv'nor,  vee  reelly  don't  vant  none  o'  yer  trade 
here  ;  it 's  sickening  to  a  cove  that  sees  vot  I  sees.  Now, 
fair  an'  square,  this  yer  wery  crib  b'longs  to  a  pious  big-vig. 
He  knows  quite  veil  vot  goes  on  here ;  but  he  takes  the  rent 
as  sweetly  as  Old  Poll  sips  her  gin.'  Tho'  he  does  turn  up 
the  vites  o'  his  eyes  in  church  o'  Sundays,  vere  's  he  goin' 
by-an'-by,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  his  judge,  Joey,  but  I  am  afraid  it  may  be  wliat 
you  call  '  hot '  for  him  ;  but  tell  me,  now,  what  do  you  think 
of  true  religion?" 

"  Don't  know  nuflin'  —  don't  vant  to  know  ;  can't  read  or 
write,  never  go  to  church  or  chapel,  never  vant  to  go.  I 
mean  to  eat  an'  drink  an'  live  'slong  's  I  can,  an'  I  '11  chance 
it  afterward.  I  tliinks  I  '11  be  as  veil  off  as  our  guv'nor,  even 
if  lie  turns  the  vites  o'  his  eyes  right  round  to  the  back  o' 
his  head." 

Not  long  after  our  interview  J  was  somewhat  astonished 
by  a  visit  from  Joey  at  our  mission-house,  and  still  more 
astonished  to  see  him  come  boldly  forth,  the  usual  grin  upon 
his  face  intensified  with  triumph  that  greatly  puzzled  me. 

"Now,  guv'nor,"  he  began,  "you've  given  me  a  supper 
more  nor  once  ;  now,  1  vants  my  turn  at  givin'  —  look  'ere, 
guv'nor  ! " 

*  Slang  word  for  youngster  or  child. 


226  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

He  stepped  aside,  revealing  one  of  the  most  innocent  girl- 
faces  I  ever  saw.  Clean,  neatly  dressed,  fresh  colored,  and 
very  quiet  in  manner,  —  there  slie  stood.  I  felt  the  hot 
blood  tingling  and  burning  within  me  like  li(;[uid  fire  as 
I  saw  and  felt  my  way  to  the  awful  truth  that  she  was  under 
the  patronage  of  Joey. 

"Who  is  she?  How  camo  you  to  have  anytliing  to  do 
with  her?'' 

"  Guv'nor,  guv'nor,  don't  get  angry  ;  there  ain't  no  need, 
—  there  ain't  indeed  I  " 

"  No   need  to   be   angry,  and  a  girl   like   that  here  with 

yon!" 

"  Now,  guv'nor,  let  a  man  speak  !  I  did  n't  think  ye  'd 
cut  up  like  this  !  but  if  yer  von't  hear  me,  I  '11  take  her  back 
again !  " 

"  Will  you  ?  You  will  find  two  very  hard  words  to  that 
bargain !  I  am  angry,  Joey,  very  angry,  and  I  fear  with 
only  too  good  cause  !  " 

"Not  now,  guv'nor  ;  yer  had  cause  ven  yer  pitched  Sneak- 
ing Sam  out  o'  yer  other  crib  over  the  vay,  that  'ere  Monday 
night,  for  priggin'  another  cove's  loaf  at  the  supper.  But 
hear  reason,  now,  guv'nor,  an'  I  'm  sartin  ye  '11  say  it 's  all 
right."' 

There  was  comfort  in  his  words  and  manner ;  l)ut  to  see 
her,  and  know  where  she  must  have  come  from,  made  self- 
command  terribly  difficult.  But  when  I  had  quietly  asked 
her  whence  she  had  come,  this  was  her  story  :  — 

"  My  father  and  mother  died  at  our  home  in  the  country. 
My  aunt  took  me  till  I  could  go  to  service.  She  got  a  place 
for  me  a  little  way  out  of  London,  where  I  was  very  happy, 
only  I  had  not  much  money  for  clothes,  and  it  all  went  as 
fast  as  it  came.  Yesterday  morning  my  mistress  told  me 
they  owed  money  they  could  not  pay,  and  must  go  away  at 
once  or  master  would  be  sent  to  prison.     1  asked  her  where 


HAED  EXPERIENCES.  227 

I  could  go  to.  She  cried,  and  said  she  did  n't  know  where 
to  go  herself  and  could  not  help  me,  but  I  had  better  go 
while  it  was  morning,  and  try  and  find  some  good  Christian 
to  take  care  of  me  till  I  found  another  place.  I  packed  up 
my  clothes  in  a  bundle,  then  she  kissed  me,  and  wished  me 
good-by.  I  walked  into  London,  carrying  ray  little  bundle. 
I  looked  at  the  shops  as  I  passed,  till  afternoon  carae  on,  and 
I  was  very  hungry.  I  had  only  sixpence,  and  didn't  know 
where  I  could  sleep ;  so  I  asked  a  poor  woman,  and  she  said 
if  I  had  only  sixpence  I  had  better  pay  fourpence  for 
lodging  and  twopence  for  food.  She  did  not  know  much  of 
such  places,  but  directed  me  till  I  found  the  place  where 
this  man  lives.  I  paid  the  lodging,  gave  one  penny  for 
bread,  another  for  milk,  as  he  told  me  to  do ;  but  he  took  my 
bundle  away,  and  I  have  not  seen  it  since." 

"  All  quite  right,  guv'nor,"  interrupted  Joey,  as  I  turned 
to  him  ;  *■'  I  ought  to  finish  the  story,  an'  I  '11  do  it.  Ven  she 
come  in  our  crib  I  vos  struck  all  o'  a  heap.  She  looked  so 
like  them  innercent  flowers  in  the  market,  that  I  thort, 
'  However  did  yer  come  here? '  Our  old  'ooman  came  out  o' 
her  den,  an'  began  talkin'  to  her ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  such 
a  thunderin'  pity  as  she  should  be  spoiled  like  our  other  gals^ 
that  afore  I  knowed  it  I  says  to  our  old  'ooman,  '  Look  yer,, 
there  's  spoiled  mis  enough,  don't  yer  make  vun  o'  her  !  ' 
'  Shut  yer  tater-trap,'  she  says  ;  '  vot  is  it  to  you  ? '  '  Nuffin'' 
to  me,  sartin,'  I  says ;  '  but  don't  make  her  like  the  others  an' 
I  '11  stand  a  pint  o'  gin  ! '  '  Yer  fool,'  she  says,  'vot 's  a  pint 
o'  ghi  to  vot  she  's  vurth  ? '  '  Veil,'  says  I,  seeing  I  must  fight 
it  out,  '  then  I  doyit  liave  her  spoiled.  I  manages  the  bed- 
rooms ;  yer  aint  any  right  up  there,  an'  you  don't  go  near 
her  this  night !  There  's  clean  sheets  on  my  bed  in  my  little 
crib  ;  an'  she  goes  there,  an'  no  mistake  vots'ever  about  that.' 
She  veedled  and  coaxed,  an'  stomped  an'  svore,  but  it  all 
vorn't  no  go.     I  got  'old  o'  the  little  un,  hands  her  over  to 


228  STREET  AliABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Tom,  an'  promises  summat  'andsome  if  lie  miiuls  her  vile 
I  'm  ill  an'  out.  Tom  owes  me  vun  for  the  stinger  he  guv' 
me,  an'  keeps  her  for  me.  Ven  bedtime  comes,  I  takes  her 
to  my  crib,  v'ere  I  'd  put  a  strong  bolt  on  the  inside.  I 
shows  her  this,  tells  her  to  fasten  herself  in,  an'  not  open  the 
door  to  any  vun  till  broad  daylight.  I  vos  sure  no  vun 
could  get  ill  vithout  smashin'  the  door  ;  but  I  keeps  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  till  all  vere  in,  an'  I  could  go  upstairs 
myself.  I  got  a  mattress  an'  thick  rug  an'  la3"S  'em  down  at 
the  crib-door  outside  ;  tlien  I  fastens  a  thick,  hard  rope  to 
the  door-latch  an'  my  own  wrist,  vich  I  kiiowed  no  vun  could 
ever  cut  without  waking  me,  an'  I  slept  vith  my  vun  eye. 
open.  The  old  'ooman  had  tried  to  get  some  on  'em  to 
make  me  drunk,  but  I  'd  thort  o'  that,  an'  I  fought  shy  till  I 
lay  down  sober  as  a  judge  is  in  the  mornin'.  Our  old  'ooman 
most  'nashed  her  gums  ven  she  found  1  vould  n't  drink  ,  she 
sneaked  up  two  or  three  times  in  the  night,  but  I  vos 
votchin',  an'  at  daylight  she  guv'  it  up  for  a  bad  job.  I 
heerd  the  bolt  go,  ven  the  little  'un  come  down  this  mornin', 
an'  vaited  for  her  at  the  foot  o'  the  stairs.  Ve  vent  halves 
in  my  breakfast.  I  kep'  her  b}'  me  all  mornin*  ;  an'  as  soon 
as  this  mission  crib  o'  yours  vos  open  I  brought  her  an'  her 
bundle.  'Ere  it  is  —  I  vant  her  to  see  afore  her  as  it 's  all 
square ;  an'  'ere  she  is,  safe  an'  sound  for  yer,  and  yer 
heartily  velcome  to  her ;  but,  guv'nor,  don't  say  I  never  guv' 
yer  nuffiii'." 

"All  right,  Joey,  and  1  thank  y(Ui  heartily  for  her;  if  ever 
I  can  do  any  good  in  return  for  her,  you  will  not  have  to 
send  for  me  tAvice." 

''Right  yer  are,  guv'nor,  an'  1  *m  glad  she  A'orn't  spoiled. 
Good-by,  little  un  ;  good-b}',  guv'nor  !  " 

"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of 
these ! "  How  far  and  to  whom  do  the  glorious  words 
apply  ?     I  should  like  to  know  that  they  will  count  for  Joey 


HAIID  EXPERIENCES.  229 

"in  that  day"  ;  for  the  stoiy,  thoiigli  lightly  and  reticently 
told,  is  simply  and  literally  true. 

A  friend  of  poor  boys  writes  :  — 

It  is  sometimes  exceedingly  difficult  to  obtain  employment 
for  a  boy  or  youth  upon  whose  character  there  lies  the  least 
stain.  Yet  how  many  poor  boys  have  been  marked  for  life 
from  no  fault  of  their  own  !  I  do  not  refer  to  those,  of 
whom  there  are  great  numbers,  Avho  give  way  to  perhaps 
one  act  of  dishonesty  through  the  hard  pressure  of  their  lot, 
and  who  afterwards  bitterly  repent  that  false  step.  But  I 
allude  to  others  who  have  been  charged  and  convicted  of 
crimes  of  which  they  were  absolutely  and  wholly  innocent. 

Anybody  who  has  had  the  least  experience  of  the  police- 
courts  must  be  aware  that  if  a  policeman  can  only  say  that 
such  aiid  such  a  boy  has  been  to  his  knowledge  in  the  societ}^ 
or  companionship  of  thieves,  or  has  ap])eared,  at  the  time 
of  some  particular  robbery,  to  have  been  associated  with 
suspected  persons  near  the  spot  where  the  occurrence  took 
place,  his  word  will  be  believed  and  the  boy  will  be  con- 
victed by  almost  any  justice  of  the  peace.  If  such  a  boy 
can  bring  forward  unmistakable  proof  of  his  having  been 
present  in  some  other  place  at  the  time  of  the  robbery,  and 
can  get  reliable  evidence  of  general  good  character,  he  may 
have  a  good  cliance  of  escape,  but  not  otherwise. 

I  have  had  at  different  times  boys  in  the  Home  who  had 
been  accused  and  punished  for  alleged  dishonesty,  but  who 
were  no  more  guilty  than  the  magistrates  before  whom  they 
were  convicted.  Had  it  not  been  for  our  Homes  these  poor 
lads  would,  on  leaving  gaol,  have  encountered  great  difficulty 
to  obtain  honest  employment,  and  might  have  thus  been  com- 
pelled to  take  to  an  evil  course. 

I  remember  distinctly  one  case  in  which  a  nice-looking  lad 
of  fourteen  and  a  half  years  was  sent  to  me  by  a  clergyman. 


230 


STBEET  AllABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


the  chaplain  of  the  gaol,  who  said  that  he  was  satisfied  the 
boy  was  innocent  of  the  crime  for  which  he  had  been  con- 
victed —  stealing  a  pair  of  boots  from  a  shop.  He  had  taken 
the  tronble  to  follow  out  the  story  and  to  investigate  the 
boy's  statement  on  his  own  behalf,  and  had  arrived  at  this 
conclusion.       The   poor    boy   received   a   sentence   of    "six 


tvN^ 


^     X^^ 


months'  im[)ris(mmpnt,"  and  T  tliink  "hard  labor,"  but  am 
not  sure. 

He  was  to  come  out  on  a  certain  day,  and  nothing  lay 
before  him  but  a  dishonest  life,  unless  some  one  would  take 
him  by  the  hand.  The  worthy  chaplain  tried  in  half  a  dozen 
ways  to  get  tlie  boy  assistance  'l)efore  applying  to  me.  P^very 
door  was  closed  against  him  because  he  had  been  convicted. 
Owing  to  circumstances  over  which  I  had  no  control  my 
reply  to  the  chaplain's  apj)lication  did  not  I'each  him  before 
the  boy  left  the   gaol,  and  I  subseijuently  heard   from  his 


HABD  EXPEIilENCES.  231 

protector,  that,  on  the  morning  the  boy's  time  expired,  and 
he  was  dismissed,  his  old  ck)thes  having  been  first  restored 
to  liini,  he  met  outside  the  gaol-door  friends  and  companions 
of  other  prisoners,  some  of  whom  invited  this  young  lad  to 
go  with  them.  Having  no  friend  except  the  chaplain,  he 
accepted  their  offer,  only  to  discover  later  on  that  they  lived 
by  dishonesty. 

Poor  and  wretched  as  the  boy  was,  laboring  too  under* 
a  keen  sense  of  injustice,  he  could  not  enter  upon  a  dishonest 
life ;  so  that  when  the  chaplain  got  my  letter  to  say  that  we 
had  decided  to  receive  the  boy  to  the  Home  for  a  while,  he 
lost  no  time  in  acquainting  him  with  the  fact,  and  the  delight 
of  the  latter  at  gettnig  away  from  the  locality,  and  having 
a  fair  prospect  before  him  of  an  honest  life,  may  be  conceived. 
I  kept  him  for  eleven  months  and  then  tried  him  with  half 
a  score  of  employers,  feeling  bound  of  course  in  each  case 
to  tell  the  facts  of  his  previous  history,  supported  by  the' 
chaplain's  story,  but  as  soon  as  it  was  known  that  he  had 
been  convicted  every  door  was  closed  against  him.  A  member 
of  the  Society  of  Friends  at  length  kindly  offered  to  give 
him  work,  and  I  know  the  lad  remained  with  hiin  as  a  faith- 
ful servant  for  some  years,  eventually  leaving  him  to  get 
better  and  more  suitable  work. 

The  Christian  believer  who  labors  for  the  elevation  of  the 
lowly  has  this  sustaining  faitii,  —  that  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  true  lever  to  lift  the  fallen  from  the  pit  of 
Despair  to  the  paradise  of  Hope.  As  we  have  watched  the 
veritable  "Arabs"  in  their  rough  play,  and  listened  to  their 
coarse  remarks,  we  liave  been  tempted  to  doubt  the  possibilit}' 
of  their  redemption  from  vice,  or  their  reclamation  to  virtue. 
What  assured  remedy  is  sufficiently  ade([uate  to  transform 
their  characters,  transmute  their  leaden  natures  into  gold,  or 
transfuse  into    their  minds  and   hearts  such  ambitions  and 


232  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

aspirations  as  would  impel  them  onward  to  live  evermore 
a  life  of  unquestionable  purity?  To  climb,  step  by  step, 
through  merely  human  effort,  from  all  that  is  swinish,  and 
ascend  to  all  that  is  saintly,  is,  indeed,  an  impossible  task. 
How,  then,  shall  the  "  Arab  "  be  elevated  ?  As  we  view  the 
distance  in  this  house  of  Life,  from  lowest  malarial  swamp  to 
highest  mountain  of  ambrosial  air:  from  low-born  and  low- 
bred tendencies  to  dispositions  radically  opposed  to  all  that 
is  mean  and  debasing :  do  we  indeed  despair  that  these  chil- 
dren of  sin  shall  reach  the  mountain-top  and  l)ask  in  its 
sunshine  ?  Verily,  no  !  Nor  do  we  hesitate  to  announce  our 
faith  in  the  gospel  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  the  real  medicine 
for  every  moral  disease.  The  grace  of  God  can  transmute 
the  base  metal  into  gold,  and  transform  the  mutilated  image 
into  a  more  perfect  condition  by  his  own  perfect  workman- 
ship. The  Stairway  is  hard  to  climb,  and  numberless  skeletons 
of  the  dead  lie  around,  whose  independent  efforts  to  attain  unto 
a  true  exaltation  were  futile  and  fatal.  When  the  "  Arab  " 
is  taught  to  commit  himself,  in  dependence^  to  the  Divine 
Elevator,  he  shall  then  be  drawn  up,  through  the  power  of 
God,  to  safety  and  to  victory.  We  do  not,  therefore,  hesitate 
to  affirm  that  in  Jesus  Christ  alone,  who  is  the  Eternal  Life, 
is  found  the  never -failing,  ever -successful  remedy  for  lowly 
"  Arab  "  or  lordly  Aristocrat.  Let  but  his  Spirit  take  posses- 
sion of  any  human  heart,  then  shall  a  power  greater  than 
hydraulics  lift  the  soul  to  heaven  and  to  God.  Whether 
found  in  the  foul  gutter,  or  in  the  marble  mansion,  the  sinner, 
laying  hold  of  Christ  by  faith,  shall  indeed  grow  out  of  the 
selfish  and  the  sensual,  recognizing  this  true  secret  of  victory : 
"  I  live  ;  yet  not  1,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me :  and  the  life  which 
I  now  live  in  the  tlesh  I  live  by  the  faith  of  the  Son  of  God, 
who  loved  me,  and  gave  himself  for  me."     (Gal.  ii,  20.) 

Hard,  indeed,  has  been  the  experience  of  neglected  chil- 
dren who  have  slipped  through  our  hands  when  they  might 


■VERITABLE   ARABS."     Page  231. 


HAED  EXPEBIEXCES.  235 

have  been  rescued.  And  are  we  not  likely  to  allow  others  to 
drift  by  on  the  rapid  current,  while  we  gravely  discuss  the 
question,  ''  How  to  reach  the  Arabs  en  masse  ?  "  One  by  one 
they  come  into  the  world,  one  by  one  they  leave  it:  shall 
they  not  be  reached  and  rescued  one  by  one  ?  Shall  we 
undervalue  07ie  human  life,  because  we  cannot  save  all  ?  The 
way  to  reach  the  masses  is  through  the  individual.  And 
when  we  rightly  estimate  the  value  of  a  human  soul,  we 
shall  feel  impelled  to  work  in  their  behalf  with  downright 
earnestness.  Some  years  ago,  that  greatly  honored  Christian 
philanthropist,  Mr.  George  H.  Stuart,  when  in  London,  vis- 
ited that  wonderful  museum,  the  Tower.  Being  ushered  into 
the  Jewel  Room,  where  crowns  and  coronets,  swords  of  state, 
maces,  gold-plate,  and  other  paraphernalia  of  royalty  are  dis- 
played in  beautiful  arrangement,  the  American  citizen  civilly 
asked  the  value  of  the  regalia  spread  before  him.  The  sum 
in  pounds  sterling  given  in  reply  was  simply  enormous,  yet 
no  amount  of  money  could  rightly  determine  the  value  of 
those  splendid  relics,  closely  associated  with  England's 
throne  for  many  centuries.  The  same  evening  Mr.  Stuart 
was  called  uj^ton  to  address  a  large  gathering  of  "  Arabs  "  in 
the  Field  Lane  Ragged-School.  He  described  his  visit  to 
the  Tower,  and  enlarged  with  commanding  interest  upon  the 
crowns,  and  jewels,  and  })recious  stones  on  which  his  eyes, 
had  feasted,  giving  their  worth  in  money,  besides  enlarging 
on  their  greater  historical  value.  "  But,"  said  the  speaker, 
w4th  peculiar  tenderness,  ''  that  little  girl  there  possesses  a 
jewel  of  far  more  transcendent  value  than  all  the  crowns  of 
earth,  and  all  the  splendors  of  royalty."  How  true  I  How 
solemn  a  fact  is  this  !  The  soul  of  a  child  outweighs  this 
globe  with  all  its  known  and  unknown  riches.  "  For  what 
shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  own  soul ;  or  what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his 
soul  ?  " 


236  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

That  we  are  all  verily  guilty  in  our  unconcern  for  the 
degraded,  we  must  confess.  A  lady  friend  found  twelve  lost 
girls  in  one  room,  one  dying,  one  unconscious  in  drunkenness, 
and  others  partially  intoxicated;  yet  not  one  spoke  a  rude 
word,  l)ut  those  who  were  sufficiently  sober  listened  patiently 
and  tearfully  to  the  story  of  the  Cross.  Their  mortification 
was  very  great,  and  their  penitence  evidently  heartfelt.  All 
of  them  liad  been  Sunday-school  scholars.  What  of  their 
teachers?  Had  they  clung  to  them  faithfully,  and  sought 
their  salvation  personally.,  would  these  children  of  sin  have 
thus  drifted  so  far  away  ?  Oh !  that  eveiy  reader  may  be 
aroused  from  selfishness  and  slothfulness,  and  inquire,  ''  Lord 
what  wilt  Thou  have  me  to  do  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    COMMENDABLE   WOEK. 

Workers  Not  Alone.  —  Charitable  Institutions,  where  Found.  —  The  Children's  Aid 
Society.  —  Annual  Report. —  Criminal  Gangs  broken  up.  —  Object  of  the  Society.— 
Industrial  Schools.  —  Decrease  of  Feminine  Crime.  —  Great  Obstacles. — Italian 
Children.  —  The  Summer  Home. —Lodging-Houses.  — Economy  of  the  Society. — 
Interesting  Statistics.  —  Occupations  of  Pupils.  —  In  Winter  Many  Come  Barefooted. 
—  Ladies  at  Work.  —  Principle  of  Teaching.  —  Kindergartens  and  Creches.  —  Night- 
Schools. — ^  Foreign  Children,  how  Treated.  —  Germans,  Bohemians,  Italians. —  Ex- 
hibitions and  Recreations. — The  Summer  Home.  —  How  the  Children  Enjoy  it. — 
Xumber  Benefited.  — Enormous  Appetites.  —  Plans  for  Enlargement.  —  This  Noble 
Charity  has  a  Higher  Destiny. — Interesting  Letter  from  Dr.  Skinner.  —  Sources  of 
Enjoyment.  —  Rusticating.  —  Their  Jolly  Song.  —  Bathing.  ^  Principles  of  Govern- 
ment. —  Dining- Tables. —  Their  Favorite  Song.  —  Newsboys  Lodging-House. — 
Representatives  found  Everywhere.  —  Former  Boys  Now  in  Middle  Life. — News- 
boys' "Hotel."  —  Sunday  Services.  —  Girls'  Lodging-House.  —  The  Laundry. — 
Illustrative  Cases.  —  Western  Attractions.  —  Western  Experiences. 

'TTT'HEN  the  hero-propliet  in  an  hour  of  unutterable 
depression  poured  out  his  complaint  before  the  Lord, 
and  mourned  his  dreary  isolation  in  the  kingdom,  he  was 
instantly  reminded  of  the  seven  thousand  who  had  not 
bowed  the  knee  to  Baal.  Most  prophets  have  had  a  similar 
experience.  Reformers  often  think  themselves  alone.  Philan- 
thropists sigh  for  companionship  in  their  work.  Preachers 
weep  in  solitariness.  But  are  they  indeed  alone?  I  have 
often  gazed  from  tlie  ship's  deck  around  the  horizon,  search- 
ing for  a  friendly  sail,  and  have  felt  my  spirits  sink  within 
me  in  contemplating  the  dreary  unbroken  waste  of  waters. 
But  anon,  the  glass  brings  to  view  many  a  goodly  bark,  each 
sailing  on  her  own  course  and  bearing  her  special  cargo  to 
some  destined  port.  So  it  is  with  life's  voyaging  and  life's 
mission.  Not  ahnig  the  frequented  thoroughfares  of  com- 
merce are  the  many  charitable  institutions  to  be  found ;  not 
in  the  open  market-places  are  they  planted.  But  in  the 
more  airy  suburl)S  or  dingy  streets  among  the  poor  will  you 


238  STBEET  AEABS  AXD  iiUTTEB  SNIPES. 

discover  thein.     Charitable  organizations  multiply  on  every 

V  hand.  State  asylums,  denominational  charities,  church 
enterprises,  and  private  homes  are  on  the  increase.  Hospitals, 
asylums,  orphanages,  refuges,  poorhouses,  and  other  benevo- 
lent forms  of  charity  are  fulfilling  their  noble  mission  in 
every  city  of  the  land.      Children  are  the  special  wards  of 

^  many  of  these  schemes  of  benevolence.  Jt  has  been  com- 
plained that  the  little  ones  were  neglected.  Ac(i[uaintance, 
however,  with  the  work  in  our  cities  would  dispel  that  delu- 
sion. Not  that  all  is  done  which  might  be  done  ;  but  much 
more  will  l)e  accomplished  when  the  public  mind  is  thor- 
oughly aroused  on  the  (question.  Philanthropists  are  coming 
to  the  front.  Christian  life  throbs  with  consecrated  activity 
where  Christian  teaching  is  bold  and  definite.  Examples 
and  illustrations  are  more  potent  than  abstract  theories. 
What  has  been  done  may  be  done,  and  will  be  done,  better 
with  the  experience  of  the  past  to  draw  from. 

The  Children's  Aid  Society,  of  New  York  City,  is  one  of 

V  the  oldest  and  most  capable  of  charities  seeking  to  deal  with 
the  social  problem  of  "  Arabism."  It  has  in  great  measure 
arrested  crime  among  the  vicious  youths  of  the  city,  and  at 
the  same  time  benefited  them  in  their  rescue,  education,  and 
elevation.  This  multifarious  work  is  highly  philanthropic ; 
its  marked  eifect  in  the  preservation  of  life  and  property  has 
been  officially  recognized,  and  worthy  citizens  have  nobly 
and  generously  backed  it  up  by  personal  influence  and 
princely  generosity. 

The  Society's  Thirtieth  Annual  Report  shows  no  decline 
in  its  earnest  endeavor.  With  growing  strength  and  added 
experience  its  influence  widens  year  by  year.  Who  can 
number  the  mischiefs  prevented  by  its  vigorous  efforts? 
Who  can  count  the  mercies  received  through  its  goodly 
channels  ?  Elsewhere  we  reproduce  a  series  of  letters  from 
the  Society's  children,  as  also  from    their  employers.     The 


'DEAD    RABBITS"   AND    "SHORT   BOYS."      (Page  24i.) 


.1  COMMENDABLE  WORK.  241 

noble  aim  and  practical  outworking  of  this  institution  will 
be  appreciated  as  it  becomes  more  widely  known.  The 
varied  operations  of  the  Society  are  greatly  indebted  to  the 
wise  policy  and  unflagging  energy  of  its  capable  and  experi- 
enced Secretary,  Mr.  C.  L.  Brace.  Since  its  formation  thirty 
years  ago  he  has  been  identified  with  it,  having  skilfully 
nursed  it  in  its  trying  times,  and  lived  to  see  it  accomplish 
successfully  its  noble  mission.     Thus  speaks  the  Report :  — 

It  has  been  noted  by  the  press  in  New  York  during  the 
past  year,  how  entirely  the  old  associations  of  criminal 
youth,  such  as  the  "  Dead  Rabbits,"  "  Short  Boys,"  and 
"  Nineteenth  Street  Gangs "  of  twenty  years  since  have 
disappeared  from  the  city.  These  gangs  used  to  make  life 
and  property  unsafe  in  certain  districts,  and  they  were  the 
terror  of  all  good  citizens.  Full  accounts  of  some  of  them 
will  be  found  in  the  early  reports  of  this  society.  They  are 
all  gone  now.  Criminal  youths  still  exist,  and  sporadic 
murders  and  crimes  appear  in  this  city  as  in  all  large  cities. 
But  associations  of  boys  and  young  men,  whose  object  is  to 
commit  crimes  and  acts  of  violence,  are  not  known  at  present 
in  this  metropolis.  The  explanation  given  by  tlie  journals  is 
the  correct  one.  Associations  of  crime  among  youth  in  New 
York  have  been  broken  up  or  prevented,  not  by  punishment 
and  penalty,  but  by  associations  of  reform  and  education. 
Society  has  taken  hold  of  the  bad  boy  when  a  child,  and,, 
instead  of  waiting  till  he  was  mature  to  imprison  or  hang 
him,  has  transformed  him  by  the  gradual  influences  of 
education,  labor,  and  religion,  into  an  honest  and  industrious 
young  man.  The  press  has  rightly  attributed  this  remark- 
able change  among  criminal  youth,  and  the  singular  decrease 
of  juvenile  crime  in  New  York,  to  the  wide  and  carefully 
planned  labors  during  thirty  years  of  the  Children's  Aid 
Society.       We    have    met    organized    crime    by    organized 


242  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

education ;  we  have  improved  associated  squalor  and  poverty 
by  associated  efforts  for  the  teaching  of  cleanliness  and 
industry  ;  we  have  prevented  vagrancy,  not  by  the  police 
and  the  prisons,  but  [)y  affording  shelter  and  work;  we  have 
diminished  thieving  and  robbery,  by  teaching  honesty  to  the 
lad  of  the  streets,  and  then  putting  him  in  a  good  home 
where  he  had  few  temptations  to  stealing  ;  we  have  lessened 
vagrancy  and  ^prostitution,  by  bringing  the  begging  and 
roving  little  girl  under  early  influences  of  purity  and  indus- 
try, and  then  placing  her  with  a  kind-hearted  family  in  the 
country.  All  this  has  been  done,  not  in  a  few  cases  here 
and  there,  but  hj  large  associated  efforts  in  this  city,  reach- 
ing in  some  form  or  other  over  twenty  thousand  of  these  poor 
and  homeless  children  each  year.  Such  long  continued  and 
carefully  planned  efforts  could  not  but  be  finally  successful. 
They  must  affect  the  permanent  moral  condition  of  the 
youth  of  New  York. 

One  branch  of  them,  liowever,  —  as  diminishing  a  sad 
source  of  human  misery,  —  has  not  been  enougli  noticed  V)y 
writers  of  the  press.  Our  efforts  are  popularly-  supposed  to 
be  limited  to  the  b()3"s  of  the  })Oorest  class ;  but,  in  reality, 
we  reach — as  ovu-  statistics  show  —  more  girls  tlian  boys, 
and  with  quite  as  thorough  an  influence.  It  is  to  our 
Industrial  Schools  and  Girls'  Lodging-House,  and  Emigration 
branch,  that  may  be  attributed  the  remarkable  decrease  in 
our  police  reports  of  crime,  and  especially  vagrancy,  among 
young  girls  and  women  during  the  past  twenty  and  twenty- 
five  3'ears.  We  have  kept,  carefully  copied,  and  have 
published  many  of  the  police  reports  during  the  past  thirty 
years.  The  increase  of  population  is  Avell  known,  and  the 
many  causes  Avhich  should  augment  feminine  crime  and 
vagrancy  in  a  city  like  this,  yet  the  records  show  that, 
whereas  the  commitments  of  female  vagrants  amounted  in 
1859  to  5,778    and   in    1860    to    5,880,    they  were   in    1880 


.1   C0M3I EXT) ABLE  WOIUu  243 

only  1,541  and  in  1881,  1,854 ;  while  the  commitments  of 
young  girls  for  })etit  larceny  reached,  in  1863,  1,113,  and  in 
1864,  1,131,  l)ut  fell  in  1880  to  361  and  in  1881  to  309. 
Here  is  unassailable  testimony  of  a  silent  change  which  has 
been  going  on  for  a  generation"  among  the  daughters  of  the 
lowest  j^oor  of  the  city,  redeeming  them  from  the  untold 
miseries  of  prostitution  and  careers  of  crime.  It  is  a  direct 
effect  of  the  agencies  at  work  on  so  large  a  scale  under  this 
Society. 

There  are  great  obstacles,  however,  which  always  impede 
these  labors  and  lessen  their  fruit.  The  fact  that  this  port 
is  the  mouth  of  the  great  stream  of  foreign  immigration, 
which  is  always  pouring  into  the  United  States,  and  that  its 
worst  refuse  is  deposited  here,  and  that  the  form  of  our 
island  leads  to  a  most  dangerous  overcrowding  of  population, 
thus  continually  breeding  crime  and  poverty, — these  create 
ever  new  supplies  of  the  evils  we  seek  to  remove.  Still, 
even  these  obstacles  are  being  lessened ;  j)<^>pulation  is  being 
scattered  by  the  elevated  roads,  and  the  new  tenement- 
houses  are  improved  through  legislation,  and  through  the 
effect  of  the  new  improved  model  dwellings,  erected  by 
philanthropic  citizens  or  associations.  The  foreign  immi- 
gration too  is  of  a  better  character,  and  tends  more  directly 
to  the  farming  regions. 

One  difliculty  too,  which  we  have  felt  for  years,  is  also 
somewhat  diminished ;  we  allude  to  the  want  of  hearty 
co-operation  of  the  Board  of  Education  in  the  execution  of 
the  law  for  compulsor}^  school-attendance.  The  new  Super- 
intendent, Mr.  Jasper,  has  taken  hold  Avith  much  earnestness 
the  execution  of  this  law  ;  many  children  frt)m  the  street 
have  been  forced  into  the  "  Half-Time "  or  the  Industrial 
Schools;  many  truants  have  been  reclaimed,  and  large 
numbers  from  the  factories  of  the  city  have  been  compelled 
to  attend  school  for  a  certain  number  of  hours    each  dav. 


244 


STREET  ARABS  AND  G  UTTER  SNIPES. 


There  still  remain,  however,  many  hundreds  of  very  young' 
children  —  especially  in  the  tobacco  and  similar  factories  — 
who  ought  to  be  in  school  during  the  day,  and  whose  health 
is  sacrificed  to  the  greed  of  their  parents.  Then  there  is 
another    throng   of   children  ■ —  mainly    of   Italian    origin  — 

growing  up  to  be  vagabonds, 
who  attend  no  school  at  all, 
but  are  kept  by  their  parents, 
nominally  at  street-occupa- 
tions, though  really  amusing 
themselves  and  fast  becoming 
vagrants. 

Our  own  Half-Time  Schools 
reach  now  some  fifteen  hun- 
dred of  the  poor  Italian  chil- 
dren ;  but  there  is  a  great  body 
without,  touched  thus  far  by 
no  school,  and  not  being  as- 
similated by  American  social 
influences.  The  Board  of  Edu- 
cation has  only  to  use  the  ex- 
isting law,  to  force  this  multi- 
tude of  ignorant  children,  and 
similar  of  other  nationalities, 
to  attend  some  kind  of  schools. 
Our  Industrial  and  Night  Schools  are  of  course  planned  and 
adapted  for  the  wants  and  peculiar  habits  of  just  this  class. 
The  great  thing  needed  apparently  by  the  Board  is  some 
sort  of  truant  asylum  for  the  temporary  confinement  of 
those  who  are  incorrigibly  truant  and  vagrant.  Brooklyn 
has  such  a  Truant  Reform-School.  Whj'  should  not  New- 
York  ? 

Our  own  work  for  the  improvement  and  education  of  the 
poorest  children  is  thorougldy  well  organized  in  every  part. 


A  COMMENDABLE  WOIiK.  245 

rThe  Industrial  and  Half-Time  Schools  reach  the  consider- 
able number  of  tenement-liouse  children,  who  are  employed 
a  portion  of  the  day  on  the  street,  at  home,  or  in  factories, 
or  who  are  too  ragged,  irregular,  dirty,  and  vagrant  for  the 
public  schools.  The  Lodging-Houses  embrace  the  homeless 
and  street-wandering  and  utterly  friendless  youth.  The 
Sick  Children's  Mission  relieves  a  portion  of  the  great 
number  who  are  sick  during  the  summer  months  ;  and  the 
Summer  Home  gives  fresh  air,  good  food,  sea-bathing,  and 
many  pleasures  to  thousands  from  the  tenement-houses,  who 
are  usually  shut  out  from  these  enjoyments.  The  Emigra- 
tion branch  finally  takes  tliose  who  are  utterly  homeless  and 
adrift  and  redeems  and  elevates  them  hy  placm(j  them  in 
good  homes  in  the  country.  We  repeat  what  we  said  last 
year,  that  there  is  no  occasion  now  for  any  child  in  New 
York  to  be  homeless  or  street-wandering ;  no  child  need  beg 
or  steal  for  a  living ;  no  little  one  need  suffer  for  want  of  food  ; 
no  boy  or  girl  engaged  in  a  street-occupation  is  obliged  to 
be  without  a  liome  for  the  night  or  a  school  for  instruction  ; 
every  one  can  easily  find  a  place  where  moral  and  religious 
instruction  is  given.  Labor,  and  a  home,  and  kind  care  and 
protection,  are  open  to  all  the  poorest  children  of  the  city. 
In  the  Lodging-Houses. of  this  Society,  during  twenty-nine 
years,  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  different 
boys  and  girls  have  been  sheltered  and  partly  fed  and 
instructed.  In  the  Industrial  Schools  probably  over  one 
hundred  thousand  poor  little  girls  have  been  taught ;  and 
of  these,  it  is  not  known  that  even  a  score  have  entered  on 
criminal  courses  of  life,  or  have  become  drunkards  or  beggars, 
though  four  fifths  were  children  of  drunkards. 

Special  attention  is  directed  to  the  financial  management 
of  this  Society.  The  moat  scrupulous  cannot  complain  of 
extravagance.  It  certainly  has  managed  its  various  branches 
with  great  economy :  — 


246  STBEET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTEll  SXIPES. 

Owing  to  careful  organization,  the  work,  tiiougli  on  so 
large  a  scale,  shows  an  econcnny  of  management  which  has 
never  been  surpassed  in  such  enterprises. 

The  total  annual  expense  of  our  twenty-one  Industrial 
Schools  for  salaries,  rents,  food,  clothing,  books,  etc.  etc., 
was  $86,489.18,  which  sum,  divided  by  3.676  (the  average 
number  in  daily  attendance),  would  make  !tf23.o2  the  annual 
cost  for  each  child.  The  cost  in  1878  for  each  child  in  our 
public  schools,  not  including  rents,  was  «38.41 ;  this  expense, 
of  course,  not  including  food  or  clothing. 

In  our  Lodging-Houses,  14,122  boys  and  girls  were  fed, 
sheltered,  and  taught,  during  the  past  year,  at  a  total  expense 
of  $58,690.89.  Deducting  the  receipts,  together  with  the 
cost  of  construction  ($!33,072.82),  the  net  cost  was  -$25,- 
618.07 ;  dividing  this  by  the  nightly  average  attendance, 
we  have  the  average  cost  to  the  public  of  each  child  for  the 
year,  -$40.47.  The  average  cost,  per  year,  of  each  prisoner 
in  the  Tombs  is  $107.75,  and  the  Roman  Catholic  Protectory 
draws  from  the  city  treasury  over  $100  annually  for  each 
of  its  inmates. 

The  total  number  phxced  out  by  the  Society,  mainly  in 
Western  liomes,  during  last  year,  was  3,957  ;  the  total  cost 
for  railroad  fares,  clothing,  food,  salaries,  etc.  etc.,  was  $35,- 
540.93  ;  the  average  cost  to  the  public,  accordingly,  for  each 
person  was  $8.97.  Yet  any  one  of  these  children  placed  in 
an  asylum  or  poorhouse,  for  a  year,  wouhl  liave  cost  undoubt- 
edly nearly  $140. 

These  statistics  need  no  comment.  Again,  the  number 
who  enjoyed  the  benefit  at  our  Summer  Home  was  4,033  ; 
the  net  expense,  deducting  cost  of  construction  ($4,279.81), 
was  $6,398.51 :  the  average  cost  for  eacli  child,  $1.58.  Surely 
this  is  economical  charit}'  I 

One  branch  of  the  Children's  Aid  Society's  work  deserves 
special  commendation.     I  refer  to  their  excellent  Industrial 


THE  NEWSBOY.    (From  a  Photograph.) 


A  COMMEXDABLE  WOBK.  249 

Schools.  I  am  indebted  to  the  Report  of  Mr.  J.  W.  Skinner, 
tlie  Snjierintendent,  for  the  following  presentation  of  the 
work  of  these  schools  during  the  year :  — 

INDUSTRIAL   SCHOOLS    (21    DAY-SCHOOLS,    13   NIGHT-SCHOOLS). 

Number  of  teachers  employed 89 

.,        children  taught :  9,337  males,  4,631  females     .     .     .  13,968 

Dally  average  attendance        3,676 

Number  of  volumes  in  school  libraries 2,811 

volunteer  teachers 48 

children  taught  in  sewing-machine  classes       .     .     .  161 

garments  made 15,056 

garments  given  out        9,135 

pairs  of  shoes  given  out     .     .     .     .   ■ 2,924 

children  sent  to  places       258 

,,                ,,      public  schools        745 

,.         of  drunken  parents 1,812 

,,        begging 1,213 

,,         depositors  in  schools'  savings  banks     .     .     .  1,048 

Amount  saved  by  children  in  schools'  savings  banks     ....  $910.30 

Amount  spent  for  sick  children  in  Industrial  Schools         .     .     .  $595.85 

Industrial  work  taught :  Sewing,  machine-sewing,  print- 
ing, crocheting,  lace-making,  buttonhole-making,  cutting, 
darning,  housework,  kitchen  and  chamber  work. 

Meals  at  schools  :  Nine  schools  have  warm  meals  of  beef, 
soup,  fish,  rice,  etc.  Seven  schools  have  a  lunch  of  bread, 
syrup,  milk,  and  butter.     Five  schools  have  no  lunch. 

Occupations  of  children  :  Picking  wood,  coke,  coal,  bones, 
etc. ;  pedlars  of  fruits,  papers,  pins,  matches,  etc.  ;  boot- 
blacks, carriers,  errand-boys,  shopgirls,  artificial  flower- 
makers,  tobacco-strippers,  candies,  etc. 

It  will  be  noted  that  we  have  on  the  roll  thirteen  thousand 
nine  hundred  and  sixty-six,  being  twenty-nine  hundred  and 
eighty-eight  more  than  on  the  roll  last  year ;  and  that  the 
average  daily  attendance  is  thirty-six  hundred  and  seventy- 
six.  This  indicates  that  there  has  been  greater  regularity, 
and    that    the    average    time    of    each   scholar    is    o^reater. 


250  STBEET  ABABS  AND  (^UTTEB  SNIPES. 

One  of  the  greatest  evils  we  have  to  contend  witli  in  trying 
to  educate  the  })oor,  the  vagrant,  and  tlie  truant  chiss,  is 
the  difficulty  of  changing  their  wild  liabits.  Having  once 
presented  themselves  with  tlie  "freedom  of  the  City,"  they 
consider  it  a  perpetual  right  and  resent  any  disturbance  of  it. 

Many  of  the  pupils  are  occupied  with  home  cares.  Not 
unfrequently  little  matrons  of  ten  or  twelve  years  of  age 
have  the  care  of  a  family  on  their  shoulders.  They  cook, 
wash,  iron,  and  take  care  of  the  younger  children,  and  then 
take  the  babes  to  the  school.  We  have  a  few  creches  Avhere 
the  babes  can  be  taken  care  of,  but  generally  they  have  to 
be  tolerated  in  the  schoolroom  for  the  sake  of  the  young 
nurses. 

The  poor  can  not  dispense  with  the  domestic  service  of 
their  children.  They  help  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
though  sometimes  their  scanty  earnings  are  spent  for  beer, 
and  thns  let  the  wolf  in.  The  expedients  adopted  by  the 
teachers  for  getting  the  children  to  school  and  keeping  them 
have  to  be  varied  according  to  circumstances.  The  newsboys 
and  newsgirls,  and  bootblacks  and  pedlars,  stand-keepers, 
and  those  waiting  on  parents,  carrying  dinners,  etc.,  are 
alloAved  to  attend  to  their  business  in  "business  hours." 
Those  needing  food  and  clothing  have  dinners  provided  at 
the  schoolrooms  and  receive  garments,  new  or  second-hand, 
and  shoes  as  rewards  of  good  conduct.  Even  in  winter 
many  come  to  school  barefooted.  The  truants  are  visited 
at  their  homes  and  the  aid  of  the  truant-officer  is  invoked 
with  more  or  less  success.  Some  are  tlireatened  with  the 
terrors  of  the  law.  Those  who  are  incorrigible  are,  at 
the  request  of  the  teachers  or  of  their  parents,  committed 
to  reformatory  institutions.  I)ut  we  aim  rather  to  draw 
children  in  than  to  diive  them  in.  Tlie  schoolrooms  are 
made  as  attractive,  and  the  lessons  as  interesting,  as  possil)le. 
There  are  few  rooms  not  embellished  by  pictures  and  made 
bright  with  plants  and  flowers. 


.1  COMMENDABLE  WORK.  251 

Eiglity-nine  teachers  have  been  enipl<5yed,  of  whom  all  but 
two,  in  the  day-schools,  were  licensed  by  the  Board  of  Edu- 
cation or  were  graduates  of  normal  S(diools.  We  have  been 
assisted  by  forty-eight  volunteers. 

Many  ladies  from  the  higher  walks  (jf  life,  who  have  the 
leisure  and  disposition  and  means  to  help  the  poor,  have 
given  their  time  and  services  in  the  industrial  work,  and 
exercised  a  highly  beneficial  influence  over  the  schools  they 
visit.^  The  -Hudson  River,  Eighteenth  Street,  Cottage  Place,. 
Fourth  Ward,  and  East  River  Schools  are  fortunate  in  hav- 
ing the  aid  of  Associations  of  ladies  who  contribute  largely 
to  the  welfare,  prosperity,  and  happiness  of  the  scholars. 
Almost  every  school  has  its  patron  or  patroness  Avhose 
charities  supply  their  pressing  wants.  When  cases  come 
before  the  teacher  of  suffering  from  want  of  fuel  or  food,  or 
inability  to  meet  the  rent,  and  the  family  are  nearly  put  on 
the  street,  she  has  the  means  at  hand  of  ascertaining  the 
actual  condition  of  things  and  knows  to  Avliom  to  apply  for 
relief.  Some  schools  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be  provided 
by  their  patrons  with  a  fund  in  hand,  to  minister  to  the 
necessities  of  the  poor  as  they  arise.  I  find  that  these  funds 
are  carefully  husbanded  and  distributed.  The  main  object 
is  to  help  the  cliildren,  and  to  acquire  an  influence  that 
will  bring  them  up  to  a  higher  plane  of  life.  The  first  aim 
of  the  teacher  is  to  improve  the  morals  of  the  pupils. 
Through  the  entire  course  there  are  inculcated  the  principles 
of  morality  and  virtue,  and  love  for  truth,  honesty,  chastity, 
and  temperance.  The  teaching  is  without  sectarian  bias, 
cultivating  the  s})irit  of  benevolence  and  kindness,  and 
strengthening  the  social  affections  and  ties.  The  studies 
pursued  have  been  those  ordinarily  followed  in  the  public 
schools,  and  instruction  is  given,  as  far  as  possible,  in  grades 
or  classes,  in  accordance  with  the  directions  in  the  Manual 
of   the  Board  of   Education,     We  have  found  it  expedient 


252  STEEET  ABAB8  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

not  to  lay  down  any  cast-iron  rules  for  the  government  of 
the  schools,  or  for  the  grading  of  the  classes.  I  observe  the 
work  of  each  teacher,  and  endeavor  to  give  such  directions 
as  will  lead  to  continual  improvements  and  the  best  methods. 

The  word-and-object  systems  are  growing  in  favor.  "The 
idea  and  then  the  word  "  is  the  keynote  to  the  teaching  of 
letters  by  means  of  words  and  to  the  teaching  of  reading. 
Object-lessons  are  given  on  plants  and  animals  and  all  things 
that  the  children  can  see  and  handle.  As  yet  we  have  not 
tried  the  teaching  of  arithmetic  objectively,  except  in  the 
kindergarten  schools.  The  infants  are  taught,  especially 
in  Mrs.  Briant's  class,  l)y  means  of  sticks  and  blocks,  to 
comprehend  and  express  all  the  common  relations  of  numbers. 
And  it  seems  to  me,  that,  in  the  first  year  of  school,  the 
pupils  can  be  taught  addition,  subtraction,  multiplication, 
iind  division,  instead  of  postponing  the  teaching  of  each 
branch  till  the  others  have  been  learned.  Our  scholars  have 
to  leave  school  at  such  an  early  period  in  their  lives  that 
we  should  use  the  most  rapid  and  effective  methods.  For 
the  same  reason  we  have  introduced  writing  in  the  primary 
classes,  and  even  in  the  infant  classes.  As  the  principal 
need  of  correct  spelling  is  to  write  words  correctly,  much 
attention  is  paid  to  composition,  or  expression  of  thoughts 
in  writing,  and  to  writing  letters  and  dictation  exercises. 
At  tlie  examination  lield  in  April,  the  scholars  exhibited 
remarkable  ability  in  the  letters  composed  and  written  off- 
hand. 

We  have  sustained  four  kindergarten  classes  and  two 
creches.  The  kindergarten  class  at  Avenue  C  School  is  of 
the  Kraus-Boelte  type,  conducted  by  a  graduate,  and  con- 
fined to  kindergarten  work  pure  and  simple,  and  is  composed 
of  children  under  five  years  of  age.  They  become  remark- 
ably skilful  in  their  mani})ulations  of  papers,  sticks,  and 
blocks,  and  take  great  interest  in  the  exercises.     The  class 


THE    CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


A  COMMENDABLE  WOllK.  255 

at  Eighteenth  Street  combines  kindergarten  work  with 
instruction  in  letters  and  numbers.  Tliey  have  attained 
remarkable  proficiency  in  dealing  with  numbers.  Children 
seven  years  old  are  able  to  separate  and  to  combine  blocks 
in  nearly  every  possible  way,  and  explain  the  way  in  which 
they  do  it.  Their  power  of  perception  and  observation  is 
cultivated  so  that  their  ability  to  acquire  ideas  is  sensibly 
increased.  They  learn  to  think  and  to  observe  their  own 
thoughts. 

The  "  kitchengarden  "  classes  are  made  up  of  older  girls, 
who  are  trained  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  housekeeping 
and  domestic  service.  After  the  plan,  and  aided  by  the 
lesson-book,  of  Miss  Huntington,  they  play  with  miniature 
utensils  at  setting  tables,  waiting,  making  beds,  washing 
dishes,  washing  clothes,  etc.  The  teaching  is  done  by  Miss 
Grace  Dodge  and  her  pupils,  and  other  ladies.  They 
deserve  great  credit  for  their  success.  About  eighty  poor 
girls  have  thus  been  gifted  with  the  "golden  chain  of 
domestic  capability."  Hundreds  of  girls  in  the  schools, 
seeing  the  performances,  get  new  ideas  of  skilful  domestic 
work,  and  the  families  of  the  children  are  permanently 
benefited   by  the    practice   of   their    new  accomplishments. 

The  night-schools  have  been  conducted  with  their  usual 
efficiency.  Tliey  have  forty-seven  hundred  and  twenty- 
two  on  the  roll,  and  the  average  attendance  has  been  one 
hundred  and  eighty-seven. 

One  of  the  schools  is  for  factory  girls  and  domestics  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Fifty-second  Street  and  Eleventh 
Avenue.  Many  large  girls  attend,  who  there  get  their  first 
knowledge  of  the  alplial)et. 

The  German  Evening  School  in  Second  Street  is  also 
attended  principally  hy  girls.  Among  them  are  many 
Bohemians  who  know  no  English.  A  peculiar  feature  of 
this    school    is    the    solidarity  maintained    by   its    members. 


256  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

Through  the  iufliience  of  their  teacher  they  stick  together 
aud  form  an  association  for  mutual  improvement  and  for 
"lending  a  hand"  to  others  not  so  fortunate  as  themselves. 

The  schools  in  the  Boys'  Lodging-Houses  have  been  doing 
a  good  work  among  the  homeless  ones. 

Diligent  attention  has  been  paid  to  hand-sewing.  Regard- 
ing this  as  indispensable  to  the  tidiness  and  decency  of  home, 
and  as  a  sort  of  reformatory  power,  great  pains  have  been 
taken  by  us  with  this  most  important  school  work.  It  is 
not  yet  conducted  as  thoroughly  and  systematically  as  it 
might  be,  but  I  hope,  through  tlie  aid  of  books  and  samplefs 
of  the  London  method,  for  which  I  have  sent,  to  see  this 
department  much  improved. 

I  observe  increased  efficienc}'  in  the  management  of 
truants.  The  teachers  have  been  diligent  in  their  efforts  to 
reclaim  the  wanderers ;  and  have  been  well  supported  in 
their  efforts  by  the  truant  department  of  the  Board  of 
Education :  in  fact,  better  than  ever  before.  A  special 
agent  was  employed  to  look  after  the  Italians,  who  has  been 
the  means  of  compelling  many  Italian  children  to  attend 
school,  heretofore  beyond  our  reach.  The  poor  Italian 
children  now  constitute  a  large  majority  in  the  Fourteenth 
Ward  and  in  the  Cottage  Place  Schools. 

The  Bohemians  are  becoming  a  prominent  element  in  oiu' 
population.  Many  of  these  children  are  found  in  the 
streets,  as  there  is  no  provision  made  for  them  in  the  public 
schools  in  consequence  of  their  ignorance  of  our  language. 
The  Nineteenth  Street  School,  removed  from  West  Six- 
teenth Street,  is  located  in  the  midst  of  a  settlement  of 
Bohemians,  and  is  doing  a  good  work  in  teaching  them 
Engiisli. 

The  Superintendent  of  the  Italian  School  has  this  noble 
Report :  — 


.1  COMMENDABLE  WORK.  259 

The  inflow  of  immigration  from  the  Southern  Provinces 
of  Italy,  although  mostly  bound  for  the  interior,  is  contin- 
ually adding  to  the  Italian  population  of  this  city.  This  is 
sensibly  apparent  from  our  attendance,  whicli  during  the 
year  has  averaged  seven  hundred  and  six,  including  both 
day  and  evening  sessions.  The  timely  appointment  of  an 
Italian  truant-officer  by  the  Board  of  Education  is  gradually 
relieving  the  streets  of  Italian  vagrant  children,  and  the 
readiness  with  which  most  of  them  take  to  school  encourages 
the  expectation  that  at  no  distant  day  this  evil  may  be 
entirely  removed. 

During  the  year  seventy-five  girls  have  been  taught  in 
hand-sewing,  and  twenty-four  on  the  machine.  Of  the  old 
attendants  nine  have  withdrawn  and  take  work  at  home. 
Some  fourteen  thousand  garments  of  all  kinds  liave  been 
made  by  this  class,  nine  hundred  and  eleven  of  which,  for 
gifts  to  the  most  deserving  children  of  the  school.  Of  the 
printing  department,  four  have  been  employed  in  other 
establishments. 

The  weekly  lessons  in  vocal  music,  which  Professor  G. 
Conterno  is  giving  under  agreement  with  the  Italian  sub- 
committee, are  well  attended,  even  by  some  old  pupils  wlio 
have  left  school. 

Mrs.  J.  P.  Morgan  and  Mrs.  E.  P.  Fabii  have  not  failed 
to  kindly  provide,  as  usual,  exhibitions  and  recreations  for 
the  enjoyment  of  the  children  ;  and  the  excursion  to  Raritan 
Beach,  given  last  August,  to  our  pupils  and  their  parents, 
by  J.  P.  Morgan,  Esq.,  was  indeed  of  much  benefit  and 
pleasure  to  these  poor  but  grateful  people. 

The  Summer  Home  is  truly  a  "-  House  of  Mercy  "  for  poor 
city  children.  The  Report  speaks  eloquently  of  its  purposes 
and  benefits  :  — 

Our  generous  Trustee,  and  friend  of   poor  children,  Mr. 


260 


STliEET  AltABS  AXD  (rUTTEIl  SNIPES. 


A.  li.  Stone,  in  his  letter  to  the  children  at  the  opening  of  the 
Home  last  year,  if  memory  serves  me  correctl}',  expresses 
some  sneli  kindly  thought  as  this:  '•  I  shall  hope  during  the 
summer  to  see  the  Home  full  of  glad  young  hearts — none 
more  glad  than  mine  at  the  thought  of  giving  you  this 
summer  refuge.""  The  wish  has  been  more  than  fulfilled, 
for  the  Home  has  been  full  to  overflowing.  From  its 
opening  on  the  tenth  of  June,  to  its  close  on  the  second  of 

September,  we  have  had 
four  thousand  and  thirty- 
tliree  children,  and  I  have 
yet  to  know  of  one  really 
sad  heart  among  the  num- 
ber.    True,  it  lias  some- 
times happened    that,  as 
the    afternoon    shadows 
are     lengthening     into 
night,    some    little     girl, 
tired   witli   her    ceaseless 
play.    M'andering    apart 
from      her     companions, 
/(tf^'^*'    will    think   of    the   noise 
and    bustle    of    her    cit}- 
home  :  the  boys  and  girls  in  the  back  alley,  mother,  the  baby, 
the   familiar    smell    of    the    swill-barrel   under   the  window, 
the  dos"-fiu'ht,  and  tiic   hand-oro-im    around  the   corner.     All 
tliese  liave  their  attraction,  and,  sti'ange  as  it  may  seem,  our 
little  friend  sitting  thus  a]>art,  musing  on  things  that  were, 
foi'gets    to    contrast    them    with   licr    present    surroundings. 
The  soft  balmy  air  of  June  is  fanning  her  cheek.     The  blue 
sky,  streaked  and  tinted  Avitli  a    tht)usand   ra^-s  of  sunset,  is 
strctchcil  out  before  her.      Tlie  sweet  good-night  of  birds  is 
sounding  in  her  ears,  and  the  soft  murmur  of  the  sea  to   lull 
her    oft"    to    pleasant    dreams.      But    she,    heeding    not    the 


-U/ 


~%-^ 


.1  G03IMEXDABLE   WORK.  261 

present,  l)ut  musing  on  the  past,  breaks  out  in  one  wild  sob, 
and  is  homesick.  I  remember  liaving  come  across  just  such 
a  little  girl  as  this,  and  when  I  asked :  "  Why,  what 's  the 
matter  ?  "  she  sobbed  out  in  broken  accents  :  *■'  I-I  Avant  to 
go  home,  I  'm  afraid  ni}^  mother  's  sick !  jNIy  grandfather  died 
of  old  age,  and  my  grandmother  died  of  old  age,  and  I  'm 
afraid  my  mother  will  die  of  old  age.  Boo,  hoo,  hoo  ! " 
A  few  kind  words  and  a  little  caress  made  the  matter  all 
right,  and  next  day  she  was  as  happy  as  a  June-bug,  with  no 
thought  of  home.  I  Avould  not  have  you  think  the  cliildren 
do  not  appreciate  the  Home,  for  I  know  tliey  do,  and  enjoy 
it  to  the  fullest.  What  I  have  related  may  all  be  accounted 
for  l)y  "Distance  lends  enchantment."  "Absence  makes 
the  heart  grow  fonder." 

During  the  eleven  weeks,  from  the  tenth  of  June  to  the 
second  of  September,  we  had  twenty-six  lumdred  and 
twenty-two  girls,  or  a  daily  average  of  about  two  hundred 
and  thirty-eight,  who  spent  each  one  week  at  the  Home  ;  one 
hundred  and  ten  were  with  us  three  days ;  and  thirteen 
hundred  and  one  boys  and  girls  participated  in  the 
pleasant  daily  picnics  which  were  given  during  one  week  in 
July,  thus  making  a  total  of  four  thousand  and  thirty-three 
children  who  enjoyed  the  benefits  derived  from  fresh  air,, 
good  food,  and  salt-water  bathing.  The  net  expense,  deduct- 
ing cost  of  building,  was  $4,279.81,  or  an  average  of  about 
#1.58  per  head  })er  week.  We  have  made  many  needed 
improvements  during  the  year.  The  most  notable  being  tlu^ 
plastering  and  finishing  of  our  dormitories,  new  water- 
closets  for  the  convenience  and  comfort  of  the  children,  and 
the  furnishing  of  our  dining-room  with  large  hard-wood 
tables,  built  in  the  form  of  great  circles,  each  seatiiig  twenty- 
children  on  the  inside  and  thirty-two  outside,  thus  present- 
ing a  very  pleasing  appearance,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
adding  very  much  to  the  convenience  of  those  who  wait  \\\)0\\ 


262 


STIiEET  AIIABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


tlie  children.  It  lias  been  our  endeavor  to  make,  if  possible, 
our  abundant  fare  for  the  children  even  more  substantial; 
and  the  good  living  was  plainl}"  visible  in  the  improved  con- 
dition of  the  children  at  the  close  of  their  stay  with  us. 
Their  appetites  were  enormous,  but  we  have  never  yet  been 
guilty  of  the  sin  of  having  a  child  go  from  our  taljle  Avith- 
out  being  fully  satisfied. 

A  large  tank,  erected  upon  our  land  by  the  Bath  Steam- 


boat Company,  gives  us  an  abundant  supply  of  fresh  water, 
which  has  been  carried,  in  pipes,  to  different  parts  of  our 
building;  two  large  outlets  for  hose  give  us  additional 
security  against  fire.  In  short,  we  think  our  Summer  Home 
is  fast  approaching  what  it  should  be  —  a  model  I  I  want  to 
make  it  perfect.  I  haA'e  plenty  of  plans  in  my  head  and 
only  want  money  to  carry  out  the  suggestions.  We  want 
a  larger  ''  merry-go-round,"  thirty  or  forty  tricycles,  and 
a  smooth,  wide,  and  long  walk  j)rei)ared,  upon  which  the 
girls  can  propel  them.  My  plan  would  be  to  place  the  walk, 
or  road,  in  a  circular  form  around  the  merry-go-rouud.     Our 


A  COMMENDABLE  WORK.  263 

great  want  now  seems  to  be  more  sources  of  amusement  for 
the  children.  Our  twenty-eight  swings  and  little  merry-go- 
round  are  not  sufficient.  It  is  always  pleasant  to  be  thought 
well  of  by  one's  neighbors,  and  so  we  feel  especially  grateful 
to  Mr.  Lincoln,  and  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  associated  with 
him,  for  the  kindl}'  interest  which  prompted  the  holding  of 
a  fair  in  the  parlors  of  the  Avon  Beach  Hotel.  The  proceeds 
($285.30)  will  go  far  in  aiding  us  in  our  laudable  desire  to 
furnish  better  amusement  for  the  children.  We  desire  to 
thank  the  friends  and  Trustees  who  have  cheered  us  by 
their  presence,  and  feel  that  our  thanks  are  especially  due  to 
Mr.  Potter  for  the  loan  of  a  splendid  sailboat,  which  I  am 
sure  will  be  a  source  of  much  pleasure  to  the  teachers  and 
children  connected  with  the  Home.  We  may  look  forward 
to  the  coming  season  with  pleasant  anticipations. 

But,  after  all,  this  noble  charity  has  yet  even  a  higher 
destiny  than  the  mere  amusement  and  gratification  of  these 
little  folks.  I  believe  God  intended,  when  he  put  it  into  the 
heart  of  the  good  man  to  bestow  this  generous  gift,  to  have 
lessons  of  love  taught  here,  and  good  seed  sown,  that  shall 
yield  a  rich  harvest- in  eternity.  Soon  these  little  girls  will 
have  grown  to  womanhood.  The  paths  of  many,  I  fear,  will 
be  rough  and  thorny,  and  the  kind  words  spoken  here  and  at 
school  will  be  the  only  bright  spots  where  memory  may  rest 
and  refresh  the  soul ;  and  so  the  lonely  girl,  driven  to 
hardness  by  an  unfeeling  world,  will  think  of  her  early  home 
at  Bath,  the  kind  matron,  the  good  fare,  and  above  all  the 
unselfish  love  that  prompts  all.-  The  thought  will  bring  with 
it  a  desire  to  be  pure  again  as  in  childhood,  and  reaching 
out  after  the  arm  of  Jesus  she  will  be  saved  from  sin, 
through  Him. 

The  following  description  of  this  Summer  Home  is  from  the 
pen  of  Dr.  Skinner,  communicated  to  the  Christian  Union :  — 


264  STREET  ABADS  AXD  GUTTEn  SXIPES. 

The  Summer  Home  at  Bath,  Long  Ishind,  under  the  New 
York  Chiklren's  Aid  Society,  lias  each  week  during  the 
summer  entertained  over  two  hundred  children.  Altogether 
about  forty-seven  hundred  have  escaped  from  sultry  streets, 
and  close,  hot,  ill-ventilated  rooms  to  enjoy  the  cool  sea 
air.  They  are  gathered  principally  from  the  tenement- 
houses  and  the  streets  occupied  by  the  poorest  classes. 
A  steamer  takes  them,  under  their  conductor,  Mr.  Schlegel, 
generally  from  Broome  Street,  East  River,  to  a  pier 
adjoining  the  Home.  Two  minutes'  walk  along  the  beach 
brings  them  into  the  ground,  when  they  become  guests  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fry.  A  lot  of  about  four  acres  contains 
a  pavilion  about  sixty  by  ninety  feet,  dining-room  about 
sixty  by  sixty  feet,  dormitories  to  accommodate  three  hun- 
dred children,  thirty  swings,  a  revolving  platform,  a  great 
sand-heap,  and  grounds,  shaded  by  forest  trees,  fronting  four 
hundred  feet  on  the  ocean. 

The  children  at  first  seem  dazed  with  the  sight  of  so 
many  attractions.  They  finally  get  their  minds  settled  by 
a  sandwich,  and  are  read}'  for  Avork.  The  "scups"  are  the 
first  favorites.  A  hundred  take  to  the  swings  at  once  and 
set  them  a-going  like  mad.  Some  sit  on  the  bulkhead  or  on 
the  benches  under  the  open  piazza,  where  they  have  a  view 
of  the  sea,  and  muse.  They  Avatch  the  Avaves  in  their  cease- 
less wash  to  and  fro.  They  see  the  white  sails  of  the 
pleasure-boats,  the  steamers  to  Coney  Island,  and  the  large, 
dark,  heavy  ocean  ships  slowly  ploAving  their  way,  bound  to 
distant  ports. 

One  troop  is  marching  around  tAvo  by  two,  in  good  order, 
under  a  captain,  their  heads  Avreathed  Avith  elm  leaves  stuck 
together  Avith  pine  needles.  They  are  Italians,  and  perhaps 
through  instinct  are  reproducing  the  revels  of  Bacchus. 
Others,  scientifically  inclined,  engage  in  botanizing.  Every- 
thing  in   the   shape   of   a  fioAver   or  plant  is  gathered  with 


.1  COMMEXDABLE  WOIiK.  265 

avidity.  A  blue  star-shaped  flower  on  tall,  branching  stems, 
the  pest  of  the  farmer,  is  a  prize.  The  daisy,  clover, 
pepper-grass  and  tall  dried  grass  are  gathered  and  carefully 
cherished.  Oscar  Wilde  would  be  delighted  with  their 
appreciation  of  Aveeds.  Even  the  fresh  green  leaves  of  the 
trees  have  a  charm  for  them.  Happy  the  child  that  can  get 
a  branch  and  then  deck  his  hat  or  hair  with  them. 

The  skipping-rope  keeps  up  its  beat  from  morning  till 
night.  The  tired  ones  gather  together  under  the  shade  to 
sit  on  the  grass  and  read  story-books  or,  what  they  like 
better,  to  hear  a  story  told  or  read.  Some  lie  sprawling  at 
full  length  on  the  grass  and  look  at  the  white  clouds  sailing 
through  the  azure  depth  of  heaven.  Some  rest  on  their 
elbows  like  miniature  sphinxes  and,  with  heads  in  a  circle, 
exchange  ideas  on  the  mysteries  of  the  world.  Some  take 
at  once  to  the  great  sand-pile.     Another  set  form  a  ring  by 

joining  hands,  and  swing  around  singing :  — 

/ 
"  Here  comes  a  crowd  of  jolly  sailor  boys, 
'    That  lately  came  on  shore. 
They  spend  their  time  in  drinking  wine, 
As  they  have  done  before. 

"  So  we  go  round  and  round, 
And  round  we  go  once  more, 
And  this  is  the  girl  — 
A  very  pretty  girl  — 
A  —  kiss  —  for  —  kneeling  —  down." 

The  last  line  is  given  when  marking  one  to  fall  out.  The 
one  marked  by  "  down  "  falls  out  and  joins  a  row  who  march 
outside,  contrary  to  the  ring,  holding  each  other's  skirts,  till 
all  who  want  to  join  them  are  out. 

The  greatest  event  of  the  day  is  the  bath  in  the  sea. 
Nature  has  prepared  a  great  shallow  bowl,  with  a  rim  of 
fine  soft  sand  gently  sloping  into  deep  Avater,  called  Grtives- 
end  Bay.     The  surf  of  the  Atlantic  is  stopped  by  the  line 


266  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

oi  Coney  Island,  Init  it  has  its  own  gentle  waves.  The 
children  bathe  in  groups  of  one  hundred  at  a  time.  The 
ripple  of  laughter  that  goes  up  with  a  staccato  of  little 
shrieks  apprises  everybody  that  they  are  in.  They  hold  on 
to  the  rope  and  dance  and  jump  with  ecstasy.  Watchers 
are  on  shore  and  in  a  boat  in  front  of  them  to  rescue  any 
that  may  be  in  danger. 

But  one  case  has  occurred  among  the  many  thousands  when 
help  was  needed.  It  is  singular  that  no  serious  accident  has 
occurred  or  any  one  been  injured  of  all  that  have  been  here : 
a  good  evidence  of  the  continual  care  of  the  superintendent. 
The  government  is  on  the  principle  that  the  best  govern- 
ment is  that  which  governs  least.  They  hardly  know  that 
there  is  a  government.  But  they  are  not  saints.  There  are 
bad  tempers,  insubordination,  and  quarrelsome  dispositions, 
but  they  do  not  often  come  to  the  surface  and  are  easily 
repressed.  They  are  not  the  nice,  clean  children  of  people 
well-to-do,  but  the  majority  come  with  dresses  ragged,  dirty, 
and  greasy.  They  rec^uire  thorough  washing.  Their  faces 
are  often  thin,  and  look  as  if  pinched  by  want  or  pale  for 
lack  of  good  food.  But  at  the  end  of  the  week  they 
become  rounder  and  ruddier,  and  their  eyes  dance  with  the 
thoughts  of  what  a  happy  time  they  have  had. 

The  dining-room  holds  two  hundred  and  seventy-five 
children  seated  at  seven  tables.  The  tables  are  like  a  letter 
C,  reminding  one  of  the  reclinium  of  the  times  of  Christ= 
But  here  both  sides  are  occupied  by  little  ones.  With 
folded  hands  and  closed  eyes,  in  concert  they  follow  Mrs. 
Fry  and  say  devoutly,  "-Our  Father  in  heaven!  We  thank 
thee  for  all  thy  mercies.  Keep  us  from  harm,  and  make  us 
good  children  for  Christ's  sake.     Amen." 

In  the  morning  the  food  is  generally  oatmeal,  syrup, 
bread,  and  coffee;  at  noon,  meat  and  vegetables;  at  night, 
bread  and  butter  and   milk.      Their  capacity  for  'bread  is 


A  COMMENDABLE  WOEK.  267 

almost  insatiable,  but  they  are  given  all  they  can  eat.  Their 
appetites  increase  under  the  effect  of  sea-air  and  exercise 
ever}'  day.  They  go  to  bed  shortly  after  sundown,  tired 
and  happy,  worn  out  with  playing.  When  assembled  in  line 
marching  iv  their  dormitories  their  favorite  song  is  :  — 

"  Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 
Safe  on  his  gentle  breast, 
There  by  his  love  o'ershaded, 
Sweetly  my  soul  shall  rest." 

Their  heads  hardly  touch  the  [)illow  before  they  close 
their  eyes  in  slumber.  A  hundred  children  in  their  little 
beds,  silent  Init  for  the  sound  of  breathing,  seen  under  the 
dim  light  of  the  single  lamp,  the  sea-breeze  blowing  over 
them,  the  guardian  watcher  moving  noiselessly  among  them, 
presents  a  pretty  picture  of  healthful  repose. 

The  Newsboys'  Lodging-House  was  established  in  1854. 
Its  latest  report  is  encouraging  and  gratifying  :  — 

'Our  institution  has  been  a  factor  in  elevating  the  masses 
for  twenty-eight  years.  Much  that  has  been  accomplished 
has  been  done  quietly  and  witiiout  pretension,  and  its  effects 
will  never  be  known.  Many  cases  have  come  under  our 
observation,  where  a  kind  word  and  a  little  assistance 
cheerfully  given,  have  been  the  means  of  saving  boys  from 
becoming  vagrants  and  useless  wanderers,  whose  only 
prospect  in  life  was  a  prison-cell. 

Representatives  of  our  Home  are  to  be  found  in  every 
State  and  Territory.  A  large  number  of  those  taken  West 
by  our  agents  are  now  in  the  enjoyment  of  homes  of  their 
own,  surrounded  by  wife  and  little  ones,  and  possessed  of 
sufficient  means  to  make  tiiem  comfortable.  Had  they 
remained  here  they  would  have  at  best  obtained  but 
a  precarious  living,  and  been  apt  to  have  been  led  astray  by 


268 


STBEET  ARABS  AXI)  (iUTTFAi  SNIPES. 


the  snares  oi  the  city.  We  liave  had  with  us  one  hundred 
and  eighty-seven  thousand  nine  hundred  and  fifty-two 
different  boys  since  onr  establishment  in  1864.  The  start 
and  eneouraofement  o'iven  to  them  throucrh  our  instrumen- 


tality have  l)een  tlie  means  of  developing  their  manhood. 
Some  are  farmers,  and  others  are  to  be  found  in  the  different 
])rofessions  and  pursuits  of  life.  Many  laid  down  their  lives 
in  the  nunntenance  of  the  Union,  and  others  returned  with 
honoraldc  scars,  rcceiNcd  i:i  defending  tlie  old  flagT 


A  COMMEXDABLE  WORK.  269 

Many  of  our  former  boys  are  now  in  middle  life.  They 
often  state  that  they  owe  a  debt  to  our  institution  which 
can  never  be  re^jaid.  All  the  education  some  of  them 
possess  was  obtained- in  our  night-school,  as  they  had  to  toil 
during  the  day  and  were  unable  to  attend  the  public 
schools. 

Our  work  is  peculiar.  Before  the  plan  was  devised  to 
rescue  the  little  ones  and  surround  them  with  the  comforts 
of  home,  the  ])oor,  homeless,  and  friendless  children  were 
compelled  to  grub  along  as  best  they  could,  during  the  day, 
and  at  night  seek  some  friendly  shed,  cart,  barge,  or  ash- 
barrel  as  a  resting-place.  This  is  the  kind  of  boys  we 
welcome  to  our  institution.  Many  of  them  come  half- 
naked,  and  hungry  for  food.  A  bath  transforms  them  and 
a  hot  cup  of  coffee  refreshes.  A  boy  on  liis  first  aj^pearance 
gives  his  name,  age,  nationality,  and  parentage,  which  is 
duly  registered.  If  he  has  money  he  is  charged  six  cents 
for  his  lodging ;  if  he  is  "  broke,"  the  advantages  of  the 
institution  are  freely  accorded,  and  assistance  is  extended  in 
loans  to  enable  him  to  earn  his  own  living.  We  have  always 
found  this  nominal  charge  to  be  a  wise  feature  in  our 
methods.  Our  Home  thus  does  not  appear  to  them  to  be 
a  charitable  institution,  and  they  are  made  to  feel  as  if 
they  were  supporting  their  own  "hotel."  Besides  it  has 
a  tendency  to  make  them  industrious  and  creates  a  desire 
to  save. 

Our  bathroom,  with  its  hot  and  cold '  water,  is  greatly 
prized.  The  gymnasium  affords  pleasure  and  healthful 
recreation.  As  an  inducement  to  save  money  we  have 
a  savings  bank,  in  which  their  de})osits  are  made,  on  which 
an  interest  of  five  per  cent,  is  paid  monthly.  The  night- 
school  is  well  attended. 

At  our  Sunday-evening  services,  moral  and  religious 
sentiments   are  implanted,   and  advice   given   to   guide   and 


270  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

direct  their  steps.  The  many  hundred  visitors  who  have 
attended  these  meetings  can  attest  their  value.  The 
attention  given  by  the  boys  is  excellent,  and  the  interest 
manifested  by  them  in  the  hymns  and  addresses  shows  that 
they  have  hearts  which  can  be  touched  by  kindly  influences. 
These  meetings  are  held  at  half-past  seven  o'clock  Sunday 
evening.  At  these  services  we  would  be  pleased  to  see  any 
one  interested  in  our  work,  whose  heart  beats  in  sympathy 
for  the  poor,  outcast,  neglected  boys  of  our  great  city. 

Since  the  commencement  of  our  work,  twenty-eight  years 
ago,  we  have  furnished  1,343,166  lodgings  and  1,359,728 
meals ;  14,832  wandering  boys  have  been  returned  by  us  to 
their  relatives  and  friends.  The  total  expense  of  this  work 
has  been  #318,125.68,  and  the  receipts  .#115,523.24.  During 
this  period  we  have  had  with  us  187,952  different  boys ;  and 
20,720  boys  saved  $55,567.28  in  our  savings  bank. 

The  work  of  the  past  year  is  as  follows :  Lodgings 
furnished,  76,612 ;  meals,  86,849 ;  469  boys  returned  to 
parents  and  friends ;  our  average  attendance  at  night-scho'ol 
has  been  126 ;  we  have  found  employment  and  homes  in  the 
country  for  501  boys ;  we  have  had  with  us  8,456  different 
boys.  Our  receipts  have  been  #8,208.19,  while  our  gross 
expenses  have  been  #18,122.68.  In  our  gross  expenses  we 
have  included  the  sum  of  #1,036.35  for  construction  and 
repairs.  This  sum,  with  the  receipts  deducted  from  the 
year's  expenses,  leaves  our  net  cost  #8,878.14.  In  our 
savings  bank,  1,194  boys  saved  #2,674.34. 

It  might  here  be  stated  that  f(n-  six  cents  a  comfortable 
single  bed  is  provided,  and  with  it  all  the  privileges  of  the 
home  are  obtained.  It  makes  no  difference  to  us  how- 
wretched,  filthy,  or  ragged  a  new  comer  may  be,  he  is  ever 
received  kindly  and  made  to  feel  at  home. 

Our  Sunday-evening  services,  to  which  attention  has  been 
called,  consist  of  brief  addresses  and  singing. 


.4   C0M3IENDABLE  WORK.  273 

The  Girls'  Lodging-House  is  also  worthy  of  special  com- 
mendation.   Once  more  we  refer  to  the  interesting  Report :  — 

The  Girls'  Lodging-House  presents  its  claim  to  recognition 
among  the  useful  institutions  of  the  city,  from  the  following 
facts :  It  has  during  the  past  year  sheltered  1,058  homeless 
girls  and  provided  respectable  situations  and  employment 
for  840  of  them ;  has  sent  51  to  the  West,  where  they  are 
in  excellent  homes,  and  returned  102  to  friends.  It  has 
trained  21  in  dress-making,  30  in  laundry  work,  and  323  on 
sewing-machines  ;  has  provided  14,018  lodgings  and  39,724 
meals.  It  is  essentially  a  working  household,  with  every 
available  part  in  use  for  the  benefit  of  the  house  and  its 
inmates. 

Visitors  to  tlie  laundry,  situated  in  the  rear,  will  find  in 
the  washroom  five  or  six  girls  at  as  many  tubs,  rubbing 
diligently,  and  in  the  ironing-room  four  more  learning  to 
use  the  iron  artistically ;  no  blisters  on  cuffs,  collars,  or  shirt- 
bosoms  allowed  here.  As  the  Sewing-Machine  School,,  on 
the  first  floor,  is  approached,  the  lium  of  busy  wheels  greets 
the  ear,  and  women  and  girls  are  found  receiving  free  instruc- 
tion on  various  machines.  Hand-sewing  is  also  taught.  Up 
again  to  the  dress-making  room  on  the  third  floor ;  here  a 
class  of  ten  girls  with  deft  fingers,  are  "plying  needle  and 
thread,"  and  rich  material  is  being  transformed  into  garments 
of  beauty.  On  further,  to  the  fourth  and  fifth  stories,  where 
many  unskilled  hands  are  taking  first  lessons  in  making 
beds,  scrubbing,  sweeping,  and  dusting,. 

The  rule  of  the  House,  to  take  in  only  young  girls,  is  very 
strictly  kept,  strong  as  the  pressure  to  be  admitted  often  is 
from  older  people.  Experience  teaches  that  tli'e  two  classes 
do  not  mingle  with  good  results  ;  therefore  looking  in  any 
evening,  when  all  are  assembled,  young  faces  meet  the  eye, 
chiefly  of  girls  from  sixteen  t(j  twenty,  and  children  Avaiting 
to  be  sent  to  the  West,  each  of  these  driven  in  by  misfor- 


274  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

tunes  of  various  kinds.  One  lias  just  lost  mother  and  home : 
heart-broken  and  desolate,  she  comes  for  shelter.  Another 
has  but  to-day  left  the  hospital :  she  is  penniless  and  still 
unable  to  work.  A  girl  from  the  country  has  had  her  purse 
stolen  and  has  been  brouglit  in  by  a  lady  who  found  her 
in  the  street  crying,  not  knowing  what  to  do  or  where  to  go. 
Another  has  crossed  the  ocean  expecting  to  find  friends  at 
hand  to  receive  her,  but  can  get  no  clew  to  them,  and  has 
spent  all  her  money.  Two  sisters  have  been  sent  here  by 
their  mother  to  escape  the  brutality  of  a  cruel  father  who 
had  chased  one  of  tliem  with  a  pitchfork.  A  girl  of  sixteen 
comes  from  New  Orleans,  sent  by  her  mother,  a  poor  widow, 
to  live  with  an  aunt  who  owns  two  canal-boats.  This 
motherly  relative  has  turned  the  girl  on  the  street  without 
a  penny,  because,  being  afraid,  she  refused  to  go  on  one  of 
the  boats  as  cook.  Anotlier,  who  came  from  Trinidad  with 
a  lady  ten  months  ago,  has  also  been  sent  adrift.  Both  these 
girls  are  remarkably  quiet  and  well  behaved,  and  were 
brought  in  by  persons  knowing  their  story  to  be  true.  Three 
others,  all  under  sixteen,  have  come  from  Boston.  One 
knew  that  some  time  ago  she  had  a  sister  living  here,  and 
in  the  hope  of  finding  her,  with  only  her  name  as  a  clew, 
they  all  came,  arriving  in  New  York  with  a  surplus  of  four 
cents,  which  they  were  prevented  from  spending  in  candy, 
shortly  after  coming  in,  by  the  fact  being  pointed  out  to 
them  that  it  would  j)ay  jxtstage  on  a  letter  to  tlieir  friends. 
These  are  a  few  cases  out  of  the  hundreds  re(^uiring  just 
such  homes  for  shelter,  guidance,  and  kindness.  Many 
cannot  give  answers  to  necessary  inipiiries  till  tlieir  pent-up 
sorrow  is  relieved  by  tears,  and  then  how  often  they  tell 
of  temptations  to  self-destruction,  or  a  plunge  into  a  life 
of  shame,  and  express  their  gratitude  for  such  a  shelter. 

During  two  months  in  the  fall  the  numbers  ran  over  fifty 
every  night,  which  is  a  larger  number  than  we  ever  before 
sheltered  cintinuouslv. 


LITTLE    MISS    /A;ilT,. 


.1   C03IMEXDABLE  WORK.  277 

The  West  seems  to  have  a  greater  attraction  for  our  girls 
now  than  formerly,  owing  perhaps  to  letters  frequently 
received  by  them  from  their  companions,  who  have  been 
away  long  enough  to  test  the  truth  of  what  had  been  told 
them.  One  writes  that  her  employer  has  given  her  an  acre 
of  ground,  which  she  planted  last  spring  with  potatoes, 
cabbages,  and  tomatoes,  the  potatoes  taking  a  premium 
at  the  fair.  This  fact  is  attested  by  newspaper  report. 
Another  writes  :  "  I  have  learned  to  make  bread,  pies,  and 
cake  ,  play  the  organ  with  one  hand ;  make  hay,  and  milk 
cows,  and  have  never  been  lonesome  once  since  I  came  here. 
I  go  out  carriage-riding  v.dth  the  lady's  daughter."  A  little 
girl  of  fifteen  writes:  "I  am  going  to  school  and  have  a 
good  time  riding  horseback,  but  am  not  allowed  to  go  out 
nights ;  we  have  twelve  horses,  and  four  mules,  fifty  head 
of  cattle,  sixty  hogs,  and  lots  of  little  ones."'  Mary  D.  says 
she  has  been  sent  to  school  and  treated  just  like  a  daughter. 
Her  home  is  a  very  superior  one,  and  the  lady  seems  much 
attached  to  her,  telling  her  she  wondered  how  we  could  part 
with  her.  This  girl  gave  much  trouljle  and  anxiety  here, 
but  seems  entirely  changed  for  the  better  there.  Her  own 
explanation  of  this  is  that  she  meets  with  no  wild  girls  there 
to  make  her  behave  badly. 

The  laundry,  under  its  careful,  capable  head,  has  earned 
an  enviable  reputation  for  good  work.  Customers  fre- 
quently express  their  satisfaction,  and  some,  moving  short 
distances  from  the  city,  are  willing  to  pay  all  extra  expenses 
to  have  their  washing  sent  for.  This  department,  besides 
paying  expenses,  is  doing  a  good  work  of  instruction  ;  even 
a  few  weeks'  training  is  of  great  benefit,,  but  many  have 
remained  several  months.  Twenty-five  thousand  four  hun- 
dred and  forty-six  garments  have  been  laundried,  besides  the 
House  washing,  and  are  all  delivered  and  gathered  by  one 
faithful  o-irl. 


278  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

The  Sewing-Machine  School  has  had  three  hundred  and 
tAventy  pupils,  most  of  them  finding  employment  as  soon 
as  taught;  in  fact,  coming  to  learn  on  a  promise  of  work. 
They  are  generally  from  their  own  homes  and  not  inmates 
of  the  House,  our  lodgers  being  chiefly  flomestics.  The 
teacher,  assisted  by  the  girls,  does  the  House  sewing,  and 
makes  shirts  for  boys  going  West,  thus  finding  occupation 
for  those  waiting  for  situations,  aiid  giving  valuable  instruc- 
tion in  hand-sewing,  button!) ok'-making,  etc.  Three  hundred 
and  twenty-two  shirts,  one  hundred  and  seventy-two  bathing- 
suits,  and  two  hundred  and  twenty-two  other  garments  have 
been  made,  besides  the  folding,  sealing,  and  stamping  of 
numerous  appeals  and  reports. 

The  "  Domestic  "  and  "  Wheeler  and  Wilson  "  companies 
have  been  very  kind  in  furnishing  machines  and  fixtures. 

We  hear  of  institutions  which  liave  quantities  of  ready- 
made  garments  sent  in,  but  nearly  all  the  clothing  given 
out  here  is  made  in  the  House  from  purchased  material. 
Shoes  also  have  to  l)e  bought,  though  we  have  often  begged 
for  old  ones.  When  it  is  considered  that  j^erhaps  one  half 
who  come  in  rec^uire  a  change  before  they  can  be  made  clean, 
the  expense  of  providing,  and  the  time  consumed  in  sewing, 
which  could  otherwise  be  made  remunerative,  will  be  felt 
to  be  a  heavy  outlay.  This  is  a  part  of  the  work  forced 
upon  us  every  year  by  necessity,  but  not  generally  brought 
to  notice  in  our  reports. 

The  dress-making  department  is  occupied  entirely  by  out- 
side custom.  The  past  year  has  been  (]_uite  a  successful  one. 
Mrs.  McAljjine,  who  has  for  over  eight  years  been  its  mana- 
ger, throwing  into  her  work  a  great  deal  of  earnestness,  as 
well  as  much  business  tact  and  accumulated  experience,  has 
wrought  out  for  it  quite  a  solid  foundation.  Few  dress-mak- 
ing establishments  in  the  city  have  a  more  widespread  custom. 
Dresses  have  been  sent  to  fifteen  different  States,  as  far  West 


A  COMMENDABLE  WORK.  279 

as  Nevada  and  California,  and  South  to  Alabama,  Florida, 
and  Louisiana.  The  girls  sta\dng  the  full  time  of  six 
months  receive  a  thorough  training,  and  are  given  charts 
and  taugiit  how  to  use  them ;  Madame  Demorest  generously 
providing  the  charts  free  of  ex})ense,  wldch  is  a  great  boon 
to  the  girls.  Oat  of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty-four  girls 
who  have  passed  through  since  the  opening  of  this  depart- 
ment, we  can  trace  sixty-five  who  have  done  exceptionally 
well  at  the  trade.  Others  have  taken  good  positions  as 
seamstresses  ;  many  are  settled  in  life ;  several  have  gone 
West.  One  who  went  last  spring  writes  to  her  teacher, 
saying :  "  You  may  think  my  chart  has  done  me  no  good. 
You  are  mistaken.  I  have  made  two  dresses  for  the  lady 
I  am  with,  one  for  myself,  and  have  two  more  cut  out  ready 
to  do,  and  several  ladies  are  waiting  for  me  to  make  them 
dresses.  I  work  around  the  house  in  the  morning,  and  sew 
in  the  afternoon."  Another,  who  has  set  up  for  herself  in 
a  small  village  of  Massachusetts,  writes:  "I  am  getting  on 
splendidly,  have  plenty  of  work,  and  every  one  seems  pleased 
with  what  I  do  for  her.  I  get  perfect  fits  Avith  my  chart, 
and  have  hardly  any  trouble  at  all ;  and,  what  is  more,  I 
owe  it  all  to  you,  Mrs.  Mc Alpine,  and  can  never  thank  you 
enough  for  what  you  have  done  for  me." 

Our  Sunday  services,  conducted  in  the  simplest  manner^, 
but  giving  much  earnest  moral  and  practical  instruction,  are 
listened  to  with  marked  atteiitiou. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

EMIGRATIOX. 

The  Home  Rather  than  the  Asylum.  —  Benefits  of  the  Western  Farm.  —  Promiscuous 
Emigration.  —  Miss  Annie  Macpherson.  —  A  Diamond-Piclver.- — Brain  and  Muscle. 
—  Contrasts.  —  Individual  Enterprise.  —  "A  Home  and  a  Hearty  Welcome." — 
Practicil  Questions.  —  Canadian  Farmers.  —  "Arabs  "  not  Little  Angels.  — Blessings 
of  Emigration.  —  Illustrative  Cases.  —  Annie  and  the  Drunken  Villain.  — Testimony 
of  the  late  Sir  Charles  Reed.  —  Another  Sister  of  Mercy. —  Rev.  J.  Macpherson.— 
Good  Training.  —  A  Great  Wish.  —  Lord  Cavan.  —  The  Demand  for  Children.  — 
Mr.  Henry  Varley.  —  "A  'Larga,  Fat,  Jieautif id  Goosel"  —  A  Montreal  Merchant's 
Letter.  —  Preparatoiy  AVork  in  England.  —  Boys  and  Girls  Needed  in  Canada. — 
Room  and  a  Hearty  M'elcome.  —  The  Liverpool  Scheme.  —  My  Opinion  of  Emigra- 
ti(ni.  —  The  Pilgrim  Fathers.  —  New  York  State's  Penal  Code.  —  Systematic  Emigra- 
tion. —  "  Waiting  and  Watching." 

'*  The  plainest  farmer's  liome  rather  than  the  best  asylum 
—  a  thousand  times,"  is  the  merciful  verdict  or  Mr.  C.  L. 
Brace.  As  a  distinguished  ofhcer  of  the  Cliildren's  Aid 
Society,  of  New  York,  he  is  qualified  to  give  an  opinion  on 
the  subject.  His  book,  "•  The  Dangerous  Classes  of  New 
York,"  discusses  very  fully  the  (question  of  "Arab" 
reclamation.  In  comparing  the  asylum  system  with  that  of 
emigration  he  favors  the  latter  most  decidedlv.  Thousands 
of  children  have  passed  through  the  institutif)n  with  which 
he  is  identified,  and  were  placed  in  homes  with  the  farmers 
of  the  Western  States.  They  have  thus  become  useful 
citizens,  growing  with  the  growth  of  the  country,  many  (^f 
them  becoming  extensive  laiid-t)wners,  and  not  a  few  are 
found  filling  important  positions  in  the  new  towns  which 
have  so  rapidly  sprung  into  existence.  Match-boys  have 
grown  into  timber  merchants,  bootblacks  polish  youthful 
minds  in  halls  of  learning,  and  newsboys  revel  in  the  ranks 
of  literature  and  journalism.  Poor  girls  have  become  fair 
ladies,  and  are  now  honorable  wives  and  happy  mothers. 
Their  start  in  life  was  given  them  in   the  New  York  Home, 


EMIGRATION.  281 

but  ill  the  Western  farm  they  shook  off  tlie  slothfiilness  of 
city  habits,  and  put  into  practice  the  fatherly  counsel  given 
them  by  their  rescuers. 

In  this  scheme  of  emigration  wise  legislation  is  needed- 
It  is  a  national  crime  to  import  helpless  paupers  to  a  new 
country.  Promiscuous  emigration  is  a  gross  injustice.  The 
mentally  incapacitated  and  physically  disabled  foisted  upon 
a  pioneer  commitnity  is  an  unlawful  evil,  to  be  .strenuously 
resisted.  The  morally  depraved  allowed  to  go  unguarded 
may  Avork  unspeakable  mischief  among  the  youths  of  a  rural 
population.  The  generous  States  who  throw  open  their 
hospitable  doors  to  receive  the  homeless  child  should  be 
treated  with  honorable  consideration.  The  above-named 
Society,  the  Home  for  Little  Wanderers,  in  Boston,  and 
similar  institutions,  merit  the  thanks  of  the  country  in  their 
careful  supervision  of  the  emigration  department.  Hence 
the  proportion  of  defections  is  exceedingly  small. 

Unquestioned  facts  have  decided  in  favor  of  transplanting 
from  the  crowded  cities  to  the  boundless  prairies.  England 
has  of  late  years  increased  the  population  of  her  colonies  by 
large  importations  of  her  street-children.  Canada,  Australia, 
and  Southern  Africa  have  had  the  greatest  accessions. 
Private  philanthropy  has  outstripped  parliamentary  legisla- 
tion, so  that  at  the  present  time  a  host  of  men  and  women 
devote  their  attention  to  this  humane  project.  Within  the 
past  few  years,  through  the  efforts  of  a  few  Christian  ladies, 
ten  thousand  children  have  been  removed  from  tlie  over- 
crowded cities  of  Britain  to  the  generous  soil  and  extensive 
\   fields  of  Canada. 

Foremost  among  the  noble  band  of  volunteer  self-denying 

<^    laborers  working  for  the  lowly  is  Miss  Annie  Macphersou. 

Having    no    membership    with    any    exclusive    sisterhood, 

wearing  no  distinctive  garb  as  the  outward  syml)ol  of  saint- 

liness,  and  under  no  bondage  to  an  ecclesiastical  hierarchy. 


282  STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

she  is,  nevertheless,  a  veritable  Sister  of  Mercy.  Her  right 
to  this  distinction  consists  of  a  generous  nature,  a  heart  full 
of  philanthropic  devices,  a  face  radiant  with  goodwill,  and 
a  series  of  enterprising  deeds,  consmnraated  with  splendid 
ability,  for  the  elevation  of  the  degraded  and  the  reclamation 
of  the  lost.  Forty  times  has  this  brave  Avoman  defied  old 
Neptune  and  crossed  the  billowy  Atlantic.  Twenty  times 
has  she  arrived  on  these  shores,  bringing  with  her  members 
of  her  great  household  hy  the  hundred.  Her  jjroteges 
are  not  raked  together  out  of  the  city's  slums  pellmell,  and 
dumped  on  the  shores  of  the  New  World  to  scramble  on 
their  feet  anyhow.  Never  was  diamond-picker  more  exact; 
diamonds  are  perishable,  souls  are  imperishable ;  and  the 
eternal  salvation  of  each  child  is  a  consideration  behind  the 
lesser  motive  of  temporal  relief  iiii})elling  this  lady  onward 
in  her  Christlike  mission. 

Since  Miss  Macpherson  called  attention  to  the  advantages 
of  emigration,  many  others  have  been  inspired  by  her  ardor 
and  have  gathered  wisdom  from  her  experience.  Both  of 
her  sisters,  Mrs.  Merry  and  Mrs.  Birt,  with  their  respective 
families,  have  also  devoted  their  lives  to  rescuing  neglected 
children.  Miss  Bilbrough,  Miss  Rye,  William  Quarrier,  and 
others,  have  adopted  emigration  as  the  chief  solution  of  the 
vexed  problem,  '"What  shall  be  done  for  our  city  '  Arabs  '?" 
Dr.  Jiarnardo,  who  has  over  one  thousand  boys  and  girls  in 
his  Homes,  gladly  avails  himself  of  the  open  doors  found  in 
the  colonies.  The  gain  is  not  altogether  on  the  side  of  the 
children.  The  country  receiving  them  is  providing  itself 
with  the  ra-w  material  of  brain  and  muscle,  which,  through 
education  and  development,  will,  and  does,  give  a  rich 
return.  The  preliminaries  are  not  easily,  nor  hastil}',  gotten 
over,  but  with  careful  training,  and  patient  persistent  over- 
sight for  a  few  years,  the  ''Arab"'  v/ill  not  fail  to  become 
a   useful   citizen,  rendering   liis   ([uota   of    labor   toward  the 


TRANSPLANTATIONS. 


EMIGBATIOm  285 

prosperity  of  the  Commonwealth.  The  writer  has  visited 
many  parts  of  the  Dominion,  meeting  with  robust  young- 
men  and  blooming  maidens  who,  through  no  fault  of  theirs, 
were  formerly  child-vagrants  living  amid  squalor  and  vice  in 
the  purlieus  of  English  cities.  I  have  watched  the  career  of 
some,  rescued  years  ago,  who  are  now  ministers,  missionaries, 
and  professional  men,  while  the  great  majority  help  to  till 
the  soil.  These  becoming  producers  enrich  the  land  of 
their  adoption.  And  oh !  what  a  contrast !  Children 
snatched  from  hunger,  rags,  dirt,  and  deviltry,  are  cleansed, 
clothed,  taught,  trained,  and  placed  under  the  fostering  care 
of  strong-armed  farmers,  with  their  tender-hearted  wives,  as 
adoptions^  or  hired  help,  as  the  circumstances  of  the  case 
will  allow.  The  thouglit,  the  cares,  the  prayers,  and 
unselfish  whole-hearted  labors  demanded  to  accomplish  this 
merciful  work  are  known  only  to  those  practically  devoted 
to  the  rescue  and  reclamation  of  poverty-stricken,  sin-laden 
childhood. 

Governments  may  legislate,  corporations  may  scheme, 
councils  may  advocate,  but  in  a  work  demanding  heart 
and  brain,  —  a  work  involving  sacrifice  and  self-denial,  — 
which  brings  refinement,  purity,  and  decency  into  contact 
with  loathsomeness,  vice,  and  filthiness,  individual  enterprise 
and  personal  effort  will  best  succeed.  The  motive  power 
impelling  and  sustaining  those  wlio  live  to  save  the  lost  will 
never  fail.  The  love  of  Christ  is  the  inner  force  of  their 
life.  And  wlietlier  alone,  or  associated  with  others  like- 
minded,  these  missionaries  of  Christian  reform  Avho  stand 
ever  in  need  of  the  upholding  grace  of  our  Lord  will  find 
that  a  sufficiency.  And  He  who  knoweth  of  the  daily 
conflict,  who  seeth  those  wlio  do  brave  battle  against  the 
powers  of  evil  to  rescue  a  soul  from  sin,  and  U)  snatch 
a  jewel  from  the  prince  of  darkness  to  adorn  His  crown, 
giveth  to  his  faithful  servants  many  tokens  of  his  approval. 


286  STliEET  AllABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIP^B. 

many  hours  of  sweet  delight,  and  many  hap})y  assurances 
that  their  labors  are  not  in  vain.  Hereafter  too,  in  the  day 
of  rewards  at  his  coming,  will  he  point  to  many  saved 
through  their  instrumentality  —  brands  plucked  out  of  the 
fire,  —  and  say  to  such,  '*  Well  done,  good  and  faithful 
servant." 

The  emigration  scheme  is  no  longer  an  experiment ;  it 
has  the  fullest  indorsement  of  Christian  philanthropists  and 
statesmen.  It  has  also  the  verdict  of  time  and  experience 
ratifying  its  salutary  work.  Letters  from  transplanted 
"  Arabs "  speak  most  forcibly ;  as  the  chief  subjects  of 
discussion  their  testimony  is  of  value.  Elsewhere  I  append 
several  letters ;  the  following,  as  typical,  I  subjoin  by  way  of 
illustration.  It  is  addressed  to  Miss  Macpherson  by  one  of 
her  boys,  after  a  few  years'  residence  in  Canada :  — 

Dear  Friend.,  —  I  desire  to  hear  of  your  welfare  in  the 
work  that  God  has  put  in  your  hands  to  do  —  in  bringing 
out  the  destitute  ones  from  England  into  a  land  of  plenty, 
and  where  they  can  be  well  cared  ft)r.  I  have  seen  many  of 
them  around  the  country  where  I  have  been,  almost  all 
looking  well,  and  enjoying  themselves  much. 

I  now  live  in  the  township  of  Croft.  I  have  one  hun- 
dred and  eiglity-six  acres  of  land,  on  the  l)anks  of  Doe  Lake. 
J  think  if  I  had  stayed  in  England  I  should  not  have  had  as 
many  feet.  I  like  England  very  well,  but  it  is  a  hard  place 
for  the  poor.  I  took  one  hundred  acres  of  this  as  a  free 
ijrant,  and  the  rest  I  bou"-ht.  It  is  two  miles  and  a  half 
from  the  village.  There  are  two  stores,  post-office,  and  saw- 
mill;  I  think  a  tk)ur-mill  will  be  built  this  summer.  Mag- 
netawan  Kiver  runs  through  the  village.  There  are  two 
waterfalls  for  mill  purposes  in  the  village.  A  day-school 
will  commence  in  the  sunniier,  and  there  is  also  a  church 
and  Sundav-school,  to  wliich   I   go.     In  the  winter  it  is  not 


EMIGBA  TION.  287 

held,  because  the  roads  are  so  bad,  but  when  the  country 
gets  open  more  the  roads  will  be  better. 

I  humbly  thank  God  for  guiding  and  keeping  me  in 
good  health,  and  under  the  banner  of  Christ,  and,  I  trust, 
walking  in  his  ways,  and  hope  to  remain  so  unto  death,  and 
then  live  with  him  above,  there  to  part  no  more. 

My  brother  is  living  here  also ;  he  has  two  hundred 
acres  of  land.  Rememl)er  me  to  all  the  workers  at  the 
Home,  prajdng  that  we  niay  all,  as  Christians,  work  for  the 
Lord  of  glory,  and  at  last  meet  together  to  praise  Him. 
"Wait  on  the  Lord." 

Miss  Geldard,  the  gifted  writer  of  this  poem,  was  for  a 
time  a  much-valued  fellow-laborer  both  in  England  and  in 
Canada : — 

A   HOME   AND   A    HEARTY   WELCOME. 

All  daj"^  has  the  air  been  busy, 

As  the  daylight  hours  went  by, 
With  the  laugh  of  the  children's  gladness, 

Or  their  pitiful,  hopeless  cry. 

But  now  all  is  hushed  in  silence, 

They  are  lying  in  slumber  deep : 
While  I  ask  in  the  solemn  midnight, 

Where  do  the  children  sleep? 

We  know  there  are  children  sleeping 

In  manj^  a  happy  home, 
Where  sickness  rarely  enters, 

Where  want  may  never  come. 

Their  hands  in  prayer  were  folded 

Ere  they  laid  them  down  to  rest, 
And  on  ros}-  lip  and  soft  white  brow 

Were  a  mother's  kisses  pressed. 

They  sleep  and  dream  of  angels ; 

Ah !  well  may  their  dreams  be  fair !  — 
Their  home  is  now  so  like  a  heaven, 

They  seem  already  there. 


288  STBEET  AliABS  AXD  GUTTER  HNIPES. 

But  where  are  the  children  sleeping 
In  these  wretched  streets  around, 

Where  sin,  and  Avant,  and  sorrow 
Their  choicest  haunt  have  found? 

Will  you  climb  this  broken  staircase, 
And  glance  through  this  shattered  door; 

Oh !  can  there  be  children  sleeping 
On  that  filthy  and  crowded  flooi-? 

Yes !  old  and  young  together, 

A  restless,  moaning  heap; 
O  God!  while  they  tlius  are  sleeping. 

How  dare  thy  children  slee})? 

Does  the  night  air  make  you  shiver, 
As  the  stream  sweei)S  coldly  by? 

(Cold  as  the  hearts  of  the  heedless), 
Here,  too,  do  the  children  lie. 

An  archway  their  only  shelter; 

The  pavement  their  nightly  bed; 
Thou,  too,  when  on  earth,  dear  Saviour, 

Hadst  nowhei'e  to  lay  thy  head. 

So  we  know  tliou  art  liere,  dear  Master, 
Thy  form  we  can  almost  see; 

Do  we  hear  thy  sad  voice  saying, 
"  Ye  did  it  not  to  me  "  ? 

Yes,  chill  is  tlie  wind-swept  archway, 
The  pavement  is  cold  and  hard 

Better  the  workhouse  coffin. 
Softer  the  graveyard  sward. 

Thank  God!  yet  we  say  it  weeping, 
Thank  God  for  manj'  a  grave! 

There  sleep  the  little  children 

Whom  Christians  would  not  save! 

Yet  smiles  through  our -tears  are  dawning 
When  Ave  think  of  the  hope  that  lies 

In  our  chiklren's  Land  of  rromise, 
'Neath  the  clear  (auadian  skies. 


EMKiBA  riox.  291 

Though  the  frost  l)e  thick  on  the  windows, 

Though  the  roof  with  snow  is  wliite, 
We  know  our  Canadian  cliildi'en 

Are  safe  and  warm  to-night. 

There  tliick  are  tlie  lioinpsi)un  lilankets, 

And  the  buffalo-robes  are  warm ; 
Then  why'  should  these  children  shiver 

Out  here  in  the  winter  storm? 

Why  wait  till  the  prison  claims  them? 

Why  wait  till  of  hope  bereft 
For  that  fair  young  girl  the  river 

Be  the  only  refuge  left? 

Come,  help  us  I  answer  the  message 

Now  pealing  across  the  seas  — 
"  A  home  and  a  hearty  welcome 

For  hundreds  such  as  these!"' 

It  comes  from  broad  Ontario, 

And  from  Nova  Scotia's  shore ; 
They  have  loved  and  sheltered  our  gathered  waifs, 

They  have  room  for  thousands  more. 

The  following  plain  answers  to  practical  questions  are 
written  by  those  well  acquainted  \vith  the  work  :  — 

1.  "  Are  these  children  really  street  Arabs  ?  If  not,  where 
do  you  find  so  many  ?  " 

In  the  early  days  of  the  work,  before  the  establishment 
of  school  boards  and  kindred  institutions,  a  large  proportion 
of  the  children  were  actually  taken  from  the  streets.  Now, 
the  rescue  work  begins  farther  back,  and  seeks  to  get  hold 
of  the  little  ones  l)efore  they  ha\;e  had  a  taste  of  street  life 
and  become  contaminated.  A  policeman  brings  one  some- 
times, having  found  it  in  a  low  lodging-house,  forsaken  by 
its  worthless,  drunken  })arents.  Christian  ladies  are  ever 
on  the  look-out  for  the  little  ones  in  their  work  among  the 
poor,  and  many  a  child  has  been  taken  straight  from  the 
dying  bed  of  its  only  remaining  parent  to  Miss  Macpherson. 


292 


STBEET  AliABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPES. 


"Rescued  from  a  workhouse  life  "  might  be  written  on  many 
a  bright  little  brow,  and  "  saved  from  drink  "  on  many  more. 
Poor,  delicate  widows,  striving  vainly  to  keep  a  large,  young 
family,  have  often  proved  their  true,  unselfish  love  by  giving 


up  one  or  two  of  their  children  to  jNliss  jNIacpherson,  to  be 
taken  to  Canada.  Such  are  encouraged  always  to  write 
to  and  keep  in  loving  memory  the  dear  toiling  mother  at 
home.  Widowed  fathers  in  ill-health,  and  short  of  work, 
feeling  their   utter  helplessness   to    do    for  their  motherless 


EMIGBATION.  293 

flock,  have  come  to  Miss  Maepherson  entreating  her  to  take 
care  of  some  of  them. 

2.  "  How  come  the  Canadian  farmers  to  be  willing  to 
take  these  children?"' 

From  a  business  point  of  view  this  is  quite  easily- 
explained.  Labor  is  so  scarce  and  hired  help  so  dear,  while 
food  is  so  plentiful,  tliat  the  Canadian  farmer  finds  it  quite 
worth  his  while  to  take  a  little  boy  from  the  old  country, 
whom  he  can  train  and  teach  as  his  own,  and  Avho  very  soon 
will  repay  him  in  (j^uick  ability  for  farm  labor. 
\  8.  '•'  Are    you    sure    the    children    are    really    better    off 

there  ?  " 
^     Every  boy  in  Canada  has  before  him  a  definite  hope  for 
f^    the  future.     If   he   be  steady,  industrious,  and    of   average 
intelligence,  he  may  reasonably  look  to  being  independent 
some   day,  to   owning  land  of    his  own,   and  attaining    an 
honorable  position  in  Canada.    People  do  not  amass  fortunes 
I     there  as  a  rule,  but  they  may  all  live  in  comfort  and  plenty, 
I     and  what  they  have  is  their  own.     Surely  this  is  a  brighter 
I      prospect  than  the  ceaseless  round  of  toil  at  desk  or  counter, 
I      in   which    so  many    in  England  —  even  the  more  fortunate 
[^     — spend  their  youth  helping  to  make  rich  men  richer. 

4.  "  Among  the  hundreds  are  there  not  some  failures,, 
some  exceptions?     What  becomes  of  them?" 

Yes,  there  are  disappointments  and  failures  in  this  work 
as  well  as  in  every  other.  We  do  not  take  little  angels  to 
Canada,  but  very  human  boys  and  girls  with  every  variety 
of  temper  and  cliaracter,  and  sometimes  hereditary  disadvan- 
tages that  are  hard  to  battle  with.  But  patient  forbearance 
and  gentle  treatment  and  time  do  so  much  for  them. 
And  often  a  kind  farmer  has  asked  to  be  allowed  to  keep, 
and  "  try  again, "  the  wilful  little  fellow  who  has  tried  to 
run  away  or  proved  tiresome  to  manage. 

Ninety-eight  per  cent,  of   our    children    do  well,  and  for 


294  STBEET  AltABS  AND  GUTTEli  SXIPES. 

the  two  per  cent,  we  do  the  hest  we  can.  If  any  circum- 
stances arise  making  it  desirable  for  a  farmer  to  give  up 
a  boy,  he  is  at  once  returned  to  the  Home,  where  he  is 
received  and  kept  lu'itil  a  more  suitable  place  is  found. 

Should  any  be  still  blinded  to  the  blessings  of  emigration 
for  the  young,  surely  their  eyes  Avill  be  opened  on  reading 
the  following  facts  as  relatetl  l)y  Miss  Macpherson:  — 

William  and  ]Mary  were  brother  and  sister  living  in 
a  terrible  warren  near  Drnry  Lane.  The  boys  employment 
was  to  gather  rags  and  bones.  Their  parents  had  been 
buried  by  the  workhouse.  Tlieir  condition  was  too  deplor- 
able to  be  described.  A  year's  training  was  not  lost  upon 
this  sister  and  brother.  They  came  to  Canada  in  1873. 
Now,  could  you  see  them  at  nineteen  and  twenty-two  — 
able  to  read  and  write,  well  clothed  with  their  own  honest 
earnings,  having  saved,  in  1877,  one  hundred  dollars  ! 
William  is    now  thinking    of  having    a    farm    of   his    own. 

A.  B.  —  Who  was  lie  ?  The  son  of  a  drunken  woman,  who, 
when  very  tipsy,  still  comes  in  from  Ratcliffe  Highway  to 
abitse  us  at  Spitallields.  Alfred  has  been  many  years  in 
a  law3'er"s  family,  and  has  saved  enough  mt)ney  to  be 
apprenticed  as  an  engineer.  He  was  a  wise  boy  to  be 
guided  by  the  kind  cotmsel  of  those  he  served.  We  are 
not  satisfied  with  earthly  adoptions  only ;  we  continue  to 
pray  that  each  one  may  be  adopted  into  the  fandly  of  those 
Avho  are  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 

Well  do  we  remember  the  winter,  when  a  wild  man  from 
Seven  Dials  discovered  that  we  had  the  little  Annie,  of 
whom  he  used  to  make  sucli  traffic  in  the  gin  palaces ; 
though  we  had  no  right  to  her.  The  lamb  was  btit  six 
years  old.  Tluink  God !  an  ocean  separates  her  from  liis 
drunken  villanies.  Now  she  is  with  kind-hearted  people,  the 
companion  and  playmate  of  their  daughter. 


'The  Lamb  was  but    six   years  old."     (Page  294.) 


EMIGBATIOX.  ^  29T 

S.  W.,  seven  years  old ;  so  puny  (only  a  few  pounds  in 
weight)  owing  to  her  being  starved  and  beaten  l)y  a  drunken 
stepfather.  Now,  a  year  in  a  happy  home,  going  to  school 
regularly,  is  companion  to  an  only  child,  and  lacks  no 
earthly  comfort.  The  poor  mother  was  ill-used  by  her 
neighbors  in  the  dens  where  she  lived,  for  having,  they  said, 
sold  her  child.  We  received  a  j^hotograph  of  the  little  one 
from  her  happy  Canadian  home ;  this  closed  every  mouth, 
for  it  could  not  be  gainsaid. 

Whilst  stopping  at  one  of  the  railway-stations,  we  were 
accosted  by  a  young  man,  who  told  us  he  was  one  of  our  old 
boys  of  ten  years  ago,  but  was  now  settled  in  that  town. 
He  has  sent  for  his  brother  to  come  and  live  with  him. 
Since  then  John  and  his  wife  have  spent  a  day  at  the  Home, 
and  they  think  in  another  year,  if  they  continue  to  prosper, 
that  they  also  would  like  to  be  entrusted  with  a  little  one. 
Thus  openings  are  ever  occurring  for  those  yet  to  follow. 

Since  the  above  was  written,  other  young  emigrants,  now 
married  and  settled  in  homes  of  their  own,  have  offered  to 
adopt  orphans  and  children,  homeless  as  they  once  were 
themselves. 

The  following  are  independent  testimonies  of  those  Avho 
have  traveled  or  are  residing  in  Canada :  — 

The  late  Sir  Charles  Reed,  Chairman  of  the  London 
School  Board,  stated  that  in  his  visit  to  Canada  last  year  he 
had  given  special  attention  to  Miss  Macpherson's  work,  and, 
as  his  in(p.iiries  and  investigations  were  made  unofficially, 
the  information  he  obtained  might  be  looked  upon  as  quite 
impartial.  He  was  gratified  by  hearing  from  the  Governor- 
General,  at  Quebec,  that  he  was  well  informed  as  to  the 
work,  and  bore  testimony  to  its  worth.  He  (Sir  Charles) 
was  prepared  to  say  that  the  children  were  warmly  welcomed 
and  kindly  treated.     He  also,  without  making  his  purpose 


208  STllEET  AllABS  AND  aUTTEB  SNIPES. 

known,  visited  some  of  the  homes  where  tlie  children  were 
h)cated,  and  what  he  saw  only  confirmed  A\'hat  he  liad  been 
told  as  to  the  Canadians'  appreciation  of  the  children. 
They  were  well  oceiqned,  Avell  fed,  and  as  happy  as  they 
could  be.  He  had  entered  into  conversation  with  tlu^ 
children  as  to  familiar  scenes  in  the  east  of  London  and 
learned  how  pleased  they  were  with  their  new  homes. 

At  Toronto  he  met  Miss  Bilbrough,  a  ladv  in  charge  of  one 
of  the  Homes,  and  a  person  enthusiastically  devoted  to  this 
merciful  work,  who  thus  became  a  true  Sister  of  Mercy. 
God  has  endowed  woman  largely  for  this  Christian  ministry. 
In  lialf  an  hour  she  thoroughly  interested  him  in  the  worh, 
and  put  him  in  possession  of  such  facts  as  convinced  him 
that  the  work  was  one  which  demanded  Christian  sympathy 
and  sup})ort.  It  was  work  which  goes  on  quietly,  and  is 
little  talked  of;  but  it  ought  to  be,  as  he  trusted  it  would 
be,  widely  known.  He  was  glad  to  say  that  through  the 
School  Board  it  was  ])ecoming  known  to  intelligent  Christian 
men  both  in  and  out  of  Parliament.  It  is  good  to  work  in 
faith,  as  those  in  charge  of  this  work  do ;  but  it  is  also  good 
to  have  evidence  as  an  encouragement  to  faith,  and  as  a 
corroboration  of  the  work.  Such  evidence  he,  as  in  a  sense 
a  special  commissioner,  had  qualified  himself  to  give,  and  it 
gave  him  much  pleasure  to  render  it. 

From  the  Kev.  J.  Macpherson,  of  Scotland:  — 
3Iy  dear  Miss  ^latyherson,  —  Various  mmisterial  aiul 
pastoral  occupations,  since  my  return  home,  have  prevented 
me  from  carrying  out  my  intention  of  putting  into  shape 
my  impressions  and  thoughts  about  Canada  and  your  work. 
If  the  Lord  will,  I  shall  do  so  at  no  great  distance  of  time. 
Mi'anwhile,  allow  me  to  express  in  a  few  words  my  mature 
judgment  in  regard  to  the  leading  features  of  your  work. 
It  seems  to  me  to  furnish  the  key  to  the  solution  of  one  of 
the  most  difficult  problems  in  home-nussion  work.  . 


EMICiBATIOX. 


299 


The  character  of  the  training  to  whicli  the  chiklren  are 
subjected  jjrevious  to  their  removal  to  Canada  appears  to 
be  all  tliat  Cduld  be  desired.  1  was  delighted  with  their 
knowledge  of  Scripture,  their  general  intelligence,  their 
respectful  bearing  to  their  superiors,  their  promptness  of 
obedience,  and  other  evidences  of  religions  conviction  work- 
ino-  itself  out  in  their  g-eneral  conduct.  The  extraordinarv 
care  exhibited  m  the  selection  of  homes  a)id  in  the  placing 
of  the  children  out,  in  Canada, 
strikes  me  as  one  of  the  most 
important  and  valuable  ele- 
ments of  the  work.  Most  of 
all  Avas  I  charmed  with  the 
noble  Christian  character  of 
your  fellow-workers,  and  was 
thoroughly  convinced  that  a 
very  remarkable  measure  of 
the  blessing  of  God  rests  upon 
the  entire  movement.  I  anti- 
cipate the  most  precious  results 
for  time,  and  in  view  of  eter- 
nity the  issues  of  the  move- 
ment will  exceed  all  calcula- 
tion. I  could  say  much  more, 
but  for  the  present  must  forbear, 
dear,  lost  little  ones  in  our  large  towns ;  for  the  sake  of 
Canada,  of  whose  wants  I  am  not  ignorant ;  for  the  sake  of 
humanity,  and,  above  all,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  I  heartily  wish 
you  were  enabled  to  carry  every  summer  thousands  instead  of 
hundreds  of  little  children  across  the  Atlantic,  to  be  settled 
in  those  beautiful  Canadian  regions,  where,  by  God's  blessing, 
they  may  grow  up  ''trees  of  righteousness,  the  ])lanting  of 
the  Lord,  that  he  nuglit  ])e  glorified." 

Go   on,  my  dear  friend  ;  the  Lord  is  manifestly  with  you, 
and  he  will  bless  vcu  still  — ave,  and  more  than  ever. 


THE  YOU N& FARMER., 


For  the  sake  of  the  poor. 


300 


STEEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


From  Lord  Cavan  :  — 

Having  just  returned  from  a  six  weeks*  visit  to  Canada, 
I  wish  to  add  my  testimony  to  the  many  already  given  of 
the  very  vahiable  work  of  Miss  jMae})herson  in  the  three 
Homes  wliich  she  has  establislied  in  Canada  for  young 
British  destitute  chikh^en,  each  Home  under  the  direction 
of  devoted  and  much-esteemed  Christian  hidies. 


Lady  Cavan  and  I  found  much  pleasure  in  visiting  all 
these  Homes,  situated  in  different  parts  of  the  Dominion 
of  Canada,  in  each  of  which  children  are  received  from  two 
to  tAvelve  years  of  age,  and  looked  after  with  motherly 
affection.  The  greater  number  sent  out  this  year  had  been 
provided  for. 

There  is  a  great  demand  for  young  children  in  this 
country,  where  domestic    and  farming  servants  are  so  few. 


EMIGBATION.  301 

and  numbers  of  these  children  are  adopted  into  families,  the 
greatest  care  being-  taken  to  place  them  with  kind  and  good 
people.  They  are  either  trained  for  the  })lace  which  the}' 
will  occupy,  or,  for  the  most  part,  are  loved  and  treated  as 
children  of  the  house. 

It  needs  but  to  see  for  one's  self  the  happy,  bright  faces 
of  tlie  children,  to  be  satisfied  of  the  value  and  importance 
of  this  transplanting  institution  for  the  rescuing  of  children 
from  their  degraded  position,  for  which  they  are  in  nowise 
responsible.  May  many  be  brought  under  the  Christian^ 
happy  influence  of  Miss  INIacpherson,  through  the  liberality 
of  those  interested  in  our  poor. 

Testimony  of  Henry  Varley,  the  Evangelist :  — 
What  a  work  of  blessing  is  being  carried  on  by  the 
different  Homes  here  !  My  soul  has  been  greatly  refreshed 
this  Christmas  in  seeing  some  of  the  dear  boys  return  to 
"•Blair-Athol,"  to  spend  a  few  days  with  our  sister,  Miss  Mac- 
pherson.  The  change  in  appearance,  from  London's  hapless 
poverty  and  degradation,  to  this  glorious  clime,  —  bright^ 
rosy  faces,  full  of  laughter  and  fun,  and  yet  deeply  interested 
in  the  dear,  loving  Saviour,  whose  Spirit  thus  practically 
tells  his  own  sweet  story  of  love  to  their  young  hearts.  One 
dear  fellow  specially  delighted  me.  I  Avas  present  as  he  was 
ushered  in  Avith  his  little  brother,  his  eyes  full  of  tears  of 
gratitude  and  joy  as  he  said  to  Miss  Macpherson:  "Please, 
Miss,  here  's  a  present  for  you,"  draAving  a  large,  fat,  beauti- 
ful goose  from  under  his  arm,  carefully  packed.  Excuse 
my  adjectives,  but  I  cannot  help  it,  for  I  fairly  loved  the 
boys ;  and  Avhen  I  looked  back  but  four  years,  and  contrasted 
their  hapless  life  in  one  of  our  English  provincial  toAvns,  m^' 
spirit  Avas  full  of  gladness,  and  I  thanked  God  for  these  broad 
lands,  and  the  untiring  energy  of  the  band  of  Avorkers  and 
friends  aa'Iio  so  intelligently  and  successfully  save  them  from 
poA'erty,  crime,  and  wretchedness,  and,  by  change  of  position, 


302  STBEET  ABABS  AND  (iUTTEB  SXIPES. 

sympatli}',  common  sense,  and  Cliristian  love,  tit  them  for 
useful,  prosperous  lives  here,  and,  by  grace,  for  eternal  glory 
yonder. 

Canadians  might  naturally  fear  the  introduction  of  this 
crude  material  into  their  fair  country.  But  thus  writes 
a  Montreal  merchant :  — 

Dear  3Iiss  Maepherson,  —  My  attention  has  been  called 
to  a  communication  referring  unfavorably  to  your  AA'ork  in 
bringing  out  the  little  waifs  and  strays  from  England,  and 
placing  them  in  farmers'  homes  in  the  country  of  this  Canada 
of  ours.  I  have  thought  that  perhaps  a  letter  from  me, 
giving  my  experience,  might  not  be  out  of  place. 

Fully  eleven  years  ago  I  first  heard  of  your  intention  to 
bring  out  some  young  emigrants  to  Canada,  and  as  I  heard 
that  they  were  of  the  degraded,  vicious,  and  criminal  class,  I 
did  not  look  Avith  favor  upon  the  effort.  Being  in  E)igland 
shortly  after  the  first  lot  came  out,  without  making  my  object 
known,  I  went  down  to  the  east  end  of  London  repeatedly, 
and  personally  iucj^uired  into  tlie  working  of  the  scheme,  saw 
the  gathering  in  from  the  widows'  families,  the  orphans,  the 
destitute,  and  those  worse  than  orphans.  I  saw  the  cleaning, 
the  fresh  clotlung,  the  training  in  work  and  discipline,  and, 
above  all,  the  schooling  in  religious  teaching  from  God's  book, 
and  singing  sweet  gospel  hymns.  I  was  satisfied  that  this 
part  of  the  work  was  being  well  done  in  England,  and  great 
care  exercised  in  selecting  only  suitable  cases  and  giving 
lengthened  training,  so  that  the  girls  and  boys  from  the 
youngest  to  those  of  thirteen  and  fourteen  years  of  age, 
when  drafted  to  Canada  in  fifties  and  hundreds,  looked 
likely  youngsters  for  workers  in  this  land  of  plenty. 

After  my  return  to  Canada,  having  got  thoroughly 
interested  in  the  work,  seeing  at  least  that  it  was  doing 
a  good  work  for   London   in   relieving    the-  overpopulation 


EMIGRATION.  303 

there,  I  decided,  if  in  my  judgment  the  work  was  as  well 
cared  for  in  Canada,  and  as  much  care  exercised  in  placing 
them  out  in  homes  as  in  gathering  in  and  training,  then  it 
would  prove  a  good  Avork  for  Canada  also. 

Now,  I  can  say,  fi'om  large  personal  experience,  that  the 
placing  of  several  thousands  of  these  young,  sturdy,  willing 
workers  in  the  homes  of  Canadian  farmei'S,  througli  this 
agency,  has  been  a  blessing  to  Canada,  not  only  as  workers, 
but  also  in  many  cases  carrying  good  religious  influences 
with  them.  The  greatest  care  is  exercised  in  selecting 
suitable  homes,  and  in  no  case  is  a  child  placed  out  unless 
the  applicant  brings  good  certificates  of  character  from  the 
minister  or  justice  of  the  peace.  In  these  homes  of  the 
farmers  the  youngsters  are  well-fed,  well-clothed,  and  well- 
treated,  and  in  most  cases  made  one  of  the  family.  I  have 
constantly  inquired,  in  various  localities,  as  to  how  these 
young  people  are  getting  on,  from  prominent  men,  such  as 
judges,  members  of  Parliament,  mayors  and  councillors  of 
towns,  ministers,  and  farmers,  and  am  satisfied  as  a  whole 
they  turn  out  as  well  as  the  average  of  young  people  from 
any  class  of  society.  Some  prove  unsuitable  —  these  are 
returned  to  the  Distril)uting-Homes  and  given  a  fresh  start  j 
some  few  turn  out  bad  or  sickly  —  these  are  returned  to 
England  ;  but  compared  with  the  large  number  that  turn 
out  well  the  average  is  very  small.  I  know  the  Distributing- 
Homes  at  Knowlton,  at  Belleville,  and  at  Gait ;  they  are 
fine,  comfortable,  substantial  buildings,  and  at  Gait  there  is 
a  farm  of  one  hundred  acres  of  land.  I  know  the  workers 
and  the  oversight  they  take  in  training  until  placed  out,  the 
care  taken  in  placing  out,  how  they  A'isit  and  correspond 
with  them,  and  I  have  seen  and  possess  hundreds  of  letters 
from  these  youngsters,  written  voluntarily  by  them  from 
their  new  homes,  many  of  which  have  been  published  in 
Canadian  as  well  as  English  papers  from  time  to  time.     I 


;04 


STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SXIPES. 


have  seen  and  possess  hundreds  of  photographs  of  tliese 
waifs  and  strays,  as  taken  into  the  Gathering-Homes  in 
London,  then  brought  out  to  Canada ;  then,  after  being 
here  two,  five,  and  even  ten,  years,  the  progress  being 
marvelous. 


Now,  in  eoiR'hision,  having  witliin  the  i>ast  month  visited 
the  Gait  Home  and  Farm,  with  more  than  fifty  healthy 
heai'ty,  vigorous  youngsters  training  and  fitting  for  Avorlc 
among  Canadian  farmers,  it  is  my  firm  conviction  that  tliis 


EMIGBA  TIOK.  305 

work  is  being-  well  done  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic*  It 
is  being  carried  on  upon  right  principles  and  from  pure 
motives,  and  God  has  owned  and  blessed  it  wonderfully. 
There  is  not  only  room  but  a  hearty  welcome  for  hundreds 
more  of  such  emigrants.  The  work  has  proved  a  blessing 
to  Canada  as  well  as  a  blessing  to  England,  and  those 
engaged  in  it  should  receive  hearty  encouragement  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Miss  Macpherson  writes,  after  Lord  Dufferin's  visit  to  the 
Gait  Home  :  — 

His  Lordship  said :  "  We  meet  your  children  everywhere, 
and  they  are  so  happy;  Ave  have  crossed  the  ocean  with 
them,  and  even  last  night  where  we  were  staying  we  Avere 
waited  upon  by  one  of  your  boys  as  a  page,  —  he  did  it  Avell, 
too."  ^ 

Mr.  Samuel  Smith,  representing  Liverpool  in  the  English 
Parliament,  has  had  opportunity  of  examining  the  fruits  of 
Mrs.  Birt's  heroic  efforts  on  behalf  of  neglected  children  in 
tliat  city.     He  Avrites  with  discrimination  :  — 

Life  is  no  child's  play  in  the  colonies.  People  Avork 
harder  than  they  do  at  home,  and  these  demoralized 
creatures,  with  enfeebled  frames  and  mendicant  habits, 
Avould  be  a  nuisance  to  the  sturdy  farmers  of  the  Ncav 
World.  Our  only  hope  lies  in  rescuing  the  children;  this 
is  the  main  scope  of  my  argument.  We  cannot  rid  ourselves 
of  our  adult  pauperism,  but  \\q  can  save  the  children  if  A\^e 
resolve  to  do  so;  there  is  a  boundless  field  in  the  colonies 
for  planting  out  these  neglected  little  ones.  We  have 
tested  it  and  found  it  a  perfect  mine  of  Avealth  in  Canada, 
and  no   Avay  has  ever   been   devised  so  inexpensive  and  so 

*  Since  beginning  this  book,  I  liave  a  letter  from  !Miss  Macpherson  announcing  tlie 
purchase  of  a  new  Home  near  Stratford,  Ontario.  The  Gait  Home  and  Farm  has  been 
sold;  the  new  Home  affoi'ding  better  facilities  for  the  work.  G.  C.  N. 


306  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

fruitful  of  good  results  as  this  emigration  sclieme.  Since 
Miss  Rye  commenced  in  1869,  some  ten  thousand  children 
have  been  sent  to  Canada,  and,  with  few  exceptions,  liave 
been  absorbed  into  the  healthy  rural  life  of  that  colony, 
and  are  now  doing  far  better  than  could  have  been  brought 
about  by  any  agency  in  the  old  country. 

I  am  intimately  acquainted  Avith  the  Liverpool  scheme, 
which  has  rescued  twelve  liundred  children  in  the  last  ten 
years.  Probably  ninety-five  per  cent,  of  these  are  now 
leading  ha])py  lives  abroad.  The  very  few  failures  that 
have  occurred,  have  taken  place  with  children  too  old  and 
too  demoralized  to  be  safely  sent  abroad.  When  the  age  is 
not  over  twelve.,  and  sufficient  training  can  be  given  in 
a  Christian  institution  before  planting  out,  success  is  almost 
certain.  We  find  far  more  homes  in  Canada  offering  than 
we  can  supply  with  children.  The  farmers  often  lose  their 
own  (diildren,  by  their  early  marriage  and  settlement  in  life, 
aud  are  auxious  to  have  tlie  cheerful  company  of  a  child. 
They  find  also  early  use  even  for  a  child  among  the  cows 
and  poultry  and  the  work  of  a  farmyard.  Cldldren  are,  in 
fact,  a  treasure  in  a  thinly-populated  country  like  Canada, 
instead  of  a  Inirden  as  they  often  are  at  home.  We  take 
effectual  guaranties  against  ill-treatment,  and  require 
regular  atteudauce  at  school  and  church,  and  specified 
wages  after  a  certain  age.  Tlie  children  are  regularly 
visited  every  year  and  reptn^ted  upon  by  the  farmers  who 
take  them,  as  well  as  by  the  adjacent  clergymen.  I  believe 
the  children  experience  more  comfort  and  are  treated  Avith 
as  nnich  kindness  a.s  in  the  averaije  hmies  of  our  respectable 
artisanx  :  in  many  cases  they  are  adopted  and  made  heirs  by 
farmers  who  are  childless,  and  the  contrast  to  the  utter 
misery    in   which    we    find    them    here    is    almost    magical. 

My  object  in  the  references  to  work  done  in  England  is  to 


EMIGBATIOX.  ■  309 

support  the  proof  that  emigration  is  one  of  our  greatest 
blessings  for  neglected  or  unfortunate  children.  I  hope 
also  to  provoke  others  to  labiu'  in  this  great  cause.  In 
many  cases  the  subjects  needing  our  charitable  interference 
need  not  emigrate  beyond  their  own  State ;  but  T  plead  the 
country  with  its  broad  acres,  comfortable  homes,  and  simple 
habits,  and  especially  the  Western  country,  Avhicli  gives  our 
"Arabs"  room  and  welcome.  It  will  give  the  children 
immediate  opportunity  for  bread- winning,  and  costs  much 
less  than  keeping  them  for  years  behind  the  bars  of  great 
institutions,  however  excellent  in  themselves. 

By  no  means  are  charitable  institutions  decried.  They 
are  a  necessity  in  many  important  respects.  But  for 
them  pauperism  and  crime  would  have  grown  rampant,  and 
who  can  predict  the  evils  which  might  arise  but  for  their 
interference.  It  was  wise  that  the  descendants  of  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers  in  Massachusetts  made  it  a  misdemeanor  to 
neglect  the  proper  care  or  u])-bringing  of  children,  and  gave 
extensive  powers  to  charitable  societies  to  take  such 
children  from  their  unworthy  parents  and  deal  with  them  as 
the  State  thinks  best.  I  quote  the  last  edition  of  this  Act, 
revised  last  year,  as  follows  :  — 

[Acts  of  1882,  Chapter  181.] 
§  3.  AVhenever  it  shall  l»e  made  to  appear  to  any  court  or  magistrate 
that  within  liis  jurisdiction  any  child  under  fourteen  years  of  age,  by 
reason  of  orphanage,  or  of  the  neglect,  crime,  drunkenness,  or  other 
vice  of  his  parents,  is  growing  up  without  education  or  salutary  control, 
and  in  circumstances  exposing  him  to  lead  an  idle  and  dissolute  life,  or  is 
dependent  upon  public  charity,  such  covirt  or  magistrate  shall,  after 
notice  to  the  State  board  of  health,  lunacy,  and  charity,  connnit  such 
child,  if  he  has  no  known  settlement  in  this  Commonwealth,  to  the 
custody  of  said  board,  and,  if  he  has  a  known  settlement,  then  to  the 
overseers  of  the  city  or  town  in  which  he  has  such  settlement ;  except  in 
the  city  of  Boston,  and,  if  he  has  a  settlement  in  said  city,  then  to  the 
directors  of  pul)lic  institutions  of  said  city,  until  he  arrives  at  the  age 
of  twenty-one  years,  or  for  any  less  time ;  and  the  said  board,  overseers, 


310  srnEET  ababs  and  guttee  sxipes. 

and  directors  are  authorized  to  make  idl  needful  arrangements  for  the 
care  and  maintenance  of  children  so  committed  in  some  State,  municipal, 
or  town  institution,  or  in  some  respectable  family,  and  to  discharge 
such  childieu  froui  their  custody  whenever  the  object  of  their  comuiit- 
ment  has  been  accomplished. 

The  State  of  New  York  has  the  foUowiiig  provisions  in 
its  penal  code  :  — 

§  2SS.  UnlaivfuUij  omitting  to  provide  for  child.  —  A  person  who  wilfully 
omits,  without  lawful  excuse,  to  i)erform  a  duty  l\y  law  imposed  upon 
him  to  furnisli  food,  clothing,  slielter,  or  medical  attendance  to  a  minor, 
is  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor. 

§  289.  Endan(j('riu<j  life  or  health  of  child.  —  A  person  who,  having  the 
care  or  custody  of  a  minor,  either  — 

1.  Wilfully  causes  or  peruiits  the  minor's  life  to  be  endangered,  or  its 
health  to  be  injured,  or  its  morals  to  become  depraved;  or 

2.  Wilfully  causes  or  permits  the  minor  to  be  placed  in  such  a 
situation,  or  to  engage  in  such  an  occupation,  that  its  life  is  endangered, 
or  its  health  is  likely  to  be  injured,  or  its  morals  likely  to  be  impaired; 

Is  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor. 

§  290.  Keepers  of  concert-saloons,  etc.  —  A  person  who  aduiits  to,  or 
allows  to  remain  in,  any  dance-house,  concert-saloon,  the-itre,  or  other 
place  of  entertainment,  owned,  kept,  or  managed  by  hiui,  wliere  wines 
or  spirituous  or  malt  liquors  are  sold  or  given  away,  any  diild.  actually 
or  apparently  under  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  unless  accompanied  l)y 
a  parent  or  guardian,  is  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor. 

§  291.  Children  not  to  beg,  etc.  —  A  male  child  actually  or  apparently 
under  the  age  of  sixteen  years,  or  a  female  child  actually  or  apparentlj'^ 
under  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  who  is  found  — 

1.  liegging  or  receiving  or  soliciting  aims,  in  any  manner  or  under  any 
pretence ;  or 

2.  Not  having  any  houie  or  other  i)lace  of  abode  or  projjcr  guarilian- 
ship ;  or 

;?.  Destitute  of  means  of  support,  and  being  eitlier  an  orphan,  or 
living  or  having  lived  with  or  in  custody  of  a  parent  or  guardian  who 
has  been  sentenced  to  imprisonment  for  crime,  or  who  has  been 
convicted  of  a  crime  against  the  persim  of  such  child,  or  has  been 
adjudged  an  habitual  criminal;  or 

4.  Freipienting  the  couipany  of  reputed  thieves  or  i>rostitutes,  or 
a  house  of  prostitution  or  assiguation,  or  living  in  such  a  house  either 
with  or  without  its  parent  or  guardian,  or  fre([uenting  concert-saloons, 
dancivhouses,    theatres,    or   other    places   of    entertainment,   or   places 


EMIGIiATIOX. 


311 


where   wines,    malt   or   spirituous    lic^uors    are  sold,   witlioiit    being   in 
charge  of  its  parent  or  guardian;   or 

5.  Coming  within   any  of   the  descriptions  of   children  mentioned  in 
§  292,  must  be  arrested  and  brouglit  before  a  proper  court  or  magistrate, 


as  a  vagrant,  disorderly,  or  destitute  cliild.  Sucli  court  or  magistrate 
may  commit  tlie  cliild  to  any  charitable,  reformatory,  or  otlior  institution 
authorized  by  hiw  to  receive  an  1  take  charge  of  minors,  or  may  make 
any  disposition  of  the  child  such  as  now  is,  or  hereafter  may  be, 
authorized  in  the  cases  of  vagrants,  truants,  paupers,  or  disorderly 
persons. 


312  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

Charitable  societies  have  been  incorporated,  in  many  of 
the  States  under  these  hiws.  Their  officers  search  out  cases 
of  neglected  children,  give  them  the  benefit  of  these  salutary 
j)rovisions,  and  succeed  in  getting  possession  of  the  child. 
In  many  cases  where  children  have  been  rescued,  they  were 
immediately  sent  out  West.  In  twenty-five  years  more  than 
fifty  thousand  have  been  emigrated  from  New  York  City. 
In  some  instances  considerable  abuses  have  arisen  through 
lack  of  proper  training  and  discipline  before  removal.  Nor 
should  those  Avho  raised  a  hue  and  cry  over  such  wholesale 
emigration  be  blamed  in  seeking  to  protect  their  own 
interests.  As  the  work  is  now  mure  thoroughly  organized, 
a  better  system  2»revails. 

"  There  are  little  ones  glancing  about  on  ni}-  path 

In  need  of  a  friend  and  a  guide ; 
There  are  dim-looking  eyes  looking  up  into  mine, 

AVhose  tears  could  be  easily  dried. 
But  Jesus  may  beckon  those  children  away 

In  the  midst  of  their  grief  or  their  glee,  — 
AVill  any  of  these  at  the  Beautiful  Gate 

Be  waiting  and  watching  for  me? 

"  Tliere  are  dear  ones  at  home  I  may  bless  with  my  love, 

There  are  wretched  ones  pacing  tlie  street, 
There  are  friendless  and  suttering  strangers  around. 

There  are  needy  and  poor  1  must  meet. 
Tiiere  are  many  unl bought  of,  whom  liappy  and  blest 

In  the  heavenl}^  land  I  shall  see,  — ■ 
Will  any  of  these  at  the  Beautiful  Gate 

Be  Wiiiting  and  watching  for  me? 

"  I  may  be  brought  tliere  by  tlie  manifold  grace 

Of  the  Saviour  who  loves  to  forgive; 
Tliougli  I  bless  not  tlie  hungry  ones  near  to  my  side, 

Only  pray  for  myself  while  I  live. 
But  I  think  I  should  mourn  o'er  my  selfish  neglect, 

If  sorrow  in  heaven  could  be, 
If  no  one  should  stand  at  tlie  Beautiful  Gate, 

\Vaitina:  and  watcliing  for  me  I '" 


/  > 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

TRANSPLANTATIONS. 

The  Plant  and  Human  Life.  —  A  Western  Farmer's  Letter.  —  Once  a  New  York  Pauper. 
—  How  William  and  Marj^  Lived.  —  The  Frozen  Xose.  —  How  they  Now  Live.  —  The 
Drunken  Mother.  —  The  Good  Work  Opposed.  —  Train -Wreckers.  —  From  the 
Orphanage  to  tlie  Bench.  —  Lucy  is  a  Very  Nice  Girl.  —  Fortunate  "Arabs."  — 
"Arabs"  Owning  Farms.  —  William  F.  an  Ji.  D.  —  An  Orphan's  Career.  —  A  Stenog- 
rapher, a  Musician,  and  a  Druggist.  —  Great  Emigration  of  Children  from  New 
York.  — One  Society's  Report  for  1S82  numbers  3,!J.)7.  —  Pluck  of  G.  W.  S.  —  A  Grate- 
ful Girl.  —  A  Fortunate  Condition  in  Life.  —  Illustrative  Cases.  —  "I  Love  these 
Friendless  Children  for  Jesus'  Sake."  —  Miss  Bilbrough.  —  For  Five  Years  a  Street- 
Singer.  —  Tommy  anil  Freddy. 

TZITAPPILY  there  is  abundant  material  at  hand  to  illustrate 
the  necessity  and  desirability  of  human  transplanta- 
tion. The  plant  whose  roots  failed  to  penetrate  the  packed 
ground  had  wellnigh  perished  with  neglect.  When  trans- 
planted into  other  soil  it  bloomed  with  beauty  and  filled 
the  surrounding  air  with  its  sweetness.  We  have  seen  it 
thus  with  human  life.  I  do  not  say  that  this  change  is 
always  good  either  in  the  animal  or  vegetable  kingdom,  but 
under  certain  conditions  it  is  absolutely  essential  to  develop- 
ment. For  homeless  children,  I  liave  already  shown  that 
emigration  confers  on  them  a  boon  which  can  scarcely  be 
equaled  by  any  other  system.  It  is  generally  successful  in 
furnishing  them  with  homes  in  a  generous  land  wliich  soon 
repays  in  its  cultivation.  Besides,  the  moral  advantages  are 
great.  Even  where  children  have  l)een  kept  free  from  con- 
tamination,—  and  1  am  glad  to  testify  that  numbers  of  them 
have  only  been  unfortunate  in  their  poverty^ — yet  their 
removal  from  old  associations  and  dangerous  surroundings, 
and  their  introduction  to  new  scenes  and  new  occupations, 
cannot  be  overrated.  In  the  new  land  they  blossom  as  the 
rose  and  become  rich  in  fruitaofe  as  the  trees  of  the  orchard. 


314  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

A  Western  fanner  Avrites  as  follows  to  an  officer  of  the 
New  York  Children's  Aid  Society :  — 

Dear  tSir,  —  I  received  your  very  kind  and  welcome 
letter  a  few  days  since,  and  I  assure  you  that  I  felt  very 
much  rejoiced  to  know  that  you  felt  that  same  interest  in 
hearing"  and  knowing  how  your  Western  ))oys  and  girls  get 
along,  as  you  have  expressed  in  former  times. 

In  your  letter  you  spoke  of  the  time  you  accompanied 
our  company  of  boys  to  the  West  as  not  seeming  so  long 
to  you  as  it  really  was.  For  my  own  part,  if  I  could  not 
look  to  the  very  many  pleasant  scenes  that  it  has  been  my 
}»rivilege  to  enjoy  while  I  have  been  in  the  West,  I  do  not 
think  it  would  seem  so  long  to  me  since  we  all  marched  two 
and  two  for  the  boat  up  the  Hudson  Kiver  on  our  route  for 
Michigan.  There  were  some  among  us  who  shed  a  few  tears 
as  we  were  leaving  the  city,  as  we  all  expected,  for  the  last 
time.  But  as  we  sped  on  and  saw  new  sights,  we  very 
willingly  forgot  the  city  with  all  its  dusty  atmosphere  and 
temptations  and  wickedness,  for  the  country  all  around  us 
was  clothed  in  its  richest  foliage,  the  birds  were  singing 
their  sweetest  songs,  and  all  nature  seemed  praising  our 
heavenly  Father  in  high  notes  of  joy. 

In  the  midst  of  tliis  enchantment  we  were  introduced 
to  the  farmers  in  the  vicinity  of  A.,  and  then  and  there 
we  many  of  us  separated  to  go  home  with  those  kind  friends, 
and  mould  the  character  of  our  future  life. 

For  my  own  part,  I  was  more  tlian  fortunate,  for  I 
secured  a,  home  Mith  a  c/ood  man  and  ever}'  comfort  of  life 
I  enjoyed.  I  had  the  benefit  of  good  schools  until  I  was 
nearly  of  age,  and  when  1  became  of  age  a  substantial  })resent 
of  eighty  acres  of  good  farming  land,  wortli  lifty  dollars  per 
acre,  was  given  me,  and  thus  I  commenced  life.  Once  a 
New  York  pauper,  now  a  Western  farmer.  If  these  lines 
should  chance  to  meet  the  eyes  of  any  boy  or  girl  in  your 


310  STIiEET  AliAIiS  AND  GVTTElt  SNIPES. 

f 

Society,  J   would  say  to  them:   I)oii"t  delay,  but  go  to  the 

West  and  there  seek  your  home  aud  fortiuie.  You  may 
have  some  trials  and  temptations  to  overcome,  but  our  lives 
seem  happier  when  Ave  know  that  we  have  done  our  duties 
and  have  done  the  will  oi  our  Heavenly  Father,  who  has 
kindly  cared  for  us  all  through  our  lives. 

Last  winter  it  was  my  privilege  to  be  with  you  all 
through  the  Christmas  festivities,  and  it  did  my  soul  good 
tt)  return  and  enjoy  Christmas  with  you  after  an  absence 
of  nearly  fifteen  years.  I  met  you  there  as  1  also  did  at  the 
NcAVsboys'  Lodging-House.  Those  were  times  of  rej(ucing 
to  me  to  see  the  wickedness  we  escaped  by  not  staying  at 
large  in  your  city.  When  I  returned  home  I  brought  with 
me  a  girl  of  eleven  years  of  age,  and  intend  to  do  by  ]ier 
as  my  circumstances  will  allow.  I  have  been  married  nearly 
three  years,  and,  by  God's  grace  assisting  us,  we  intend  to 
meet  yon  all  on  the  other  slK)re.  I  liave  written  you  a  very 
long  letter,  but  I  will  now  close.  I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear 
from  you  again  at  any  time  Avhen  you  feel  at  liberty  to  write. 
Hojjing  to  hear  from  you  soon  again,  1  remain  truly  your 
friend,  c.  h.  j. 

When  reading  the  following  from  the  "•  Journal "  of 
another  I  was  reminded  of  the  proverb,  "'■  Prayers  and  pains 
will  do  anything  '" :  — 

In  1873,  W,  L.  a})plied  to  the  Charity  Organization 
Society  in  St.  Giles's  for  relief.  It  appeared  on  investigation 
tliat  lu'  was  living  \\'\{\\  his  sister  in  l^incoln  Court,  Drury 
Lane.  They  had  been  orphans  for  two  years,  and  during 
that  time  William,  aged  fourteen,  had  supported  himself  and 
his  sister  Mary,  aged  eleven,  by  picking  up  rags,  bones,  and 
other  refuse  in  the  streets  of  London.  They  did  not  seem 
anxious  to  give  up  their  present  mode  of  life,  but  only 
wanted  a  little  assistance  during  the  winter  months.     It  was 


318  STREET  AlUiBS  AND  GUTTEll  SNIPES. 

quite  evident  that  nothing  would  induce  them  to  part 
company,  and  therefore  it  was  very  diiifteult  to  find  a  way  of 
assisting  them.  On  being  consulted,  I  at  once  advised  their 
sending  to  Miss  Macpherson's.  I  had  a  long  talk  with 
William,  and  at  last  he  reluctantly  consented  to  go  to  the 
Home  of  Industry  and  see  how  he  liked  it.  Next  morning 
they  came  to  my  rooms,  and,  having  given  tliem  some  break- 
fast, I  took  them  down  in  a  cab  to  Commercial  Street.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  terril)le  filthy  state  they  were  in. 
Miss  Maepherson  soon  made  them  feel  at  home,  and  they 
both  thought  they  would  like  to  stay  there.  After  being 
photographed^  William  went  to  his  old  home  to  say  good-by; 
but,  to  my  grief,  I  heard  on  the  following  day,  that  he 
shortly  afterward  returned  to  Commercial  Street  and  took 
his  sister  away.  The  woman  in  the  house  where  he  lived, 
wlio  had  found  Mary  very  useful  as  a  careful  and  cheap 
nurse,  had  prejudiced  his  mind  against  Canada,  by  telling 
him  that  she  had  a  son  tliere  who  got  his  nose  frozen.  I 
sent  for  him  a""dn  at  ten  o'clock  at  niwht  and  had  a  lono- 
talk  with  liim.  A  truer  or  more  unselfish  boy  I  never  knew. 
He  would  evidently  have  much  ])referred  to  work  as  he  had 
been  doing,  and  it  was  only  when  I  pointed  out  to  him  the 
terrible  consecjuences  of  such  a  life  for  his  sister,  that  he  at 
last  consented  to  go  into  the  Home  of  Industry.  On  the 
following  morning  he  came  again  and  got  his  breakfast,  and 
again  we  drove  down  to  the  Home  together.  Very  shortly 
afterward  they  were  sent  out  to  Canada,  and  at  the  time 
of  my  visit  they  Av^ere  in  the  service  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J., 
sonje  ten  miles  from  Ingersoll.  Mary,  now  grown  to  be 
quite  a  young  woman,  is  indeed  changed  in  her  appearance. 
She  seems  to  be  doing  well,  and  lier  mistress  gives  her 
an  excellent  character.  William  is  not  much  changed  in 
appearance,  except,  of  course,  that  he  is  stouter  and  cleaner. 
He  also  has  a  very  good  character,  though  he  seems  to  liave 


TRANSPLANTATIONS.  319 

been  somewhat  slow  in  learning  his  work.  They  have  pnt 
by  a  good  sum  of  money,  and  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  they 
attend  church  and  school  regularly. 

From  one  of  Miss  Macpherson's  letters  I  quote  an  extract. 
The  young  man  referred  to  is  well  known  to  me.  He  is 
an  active  Christian  and  a  worthy  citizen  :  — 

In  September,  a  young  gentleman  called  on  me  ;  at  first 
I  did  not  know  him  —  then  looking  into  his  eyes  I  said : 
"  Why,  you  must  be  one  of  my  old  boys."  "  I  am,"  he 
said,  and  then  related  how  for  seven  years  he  had  lived 
a  sad  life  in  the  States,  but  never  could  forgat  my  Bible 
lessons.  He  asked,  and  Jesus  forgave  him  all  ;  then  he  had 
joined  God's  people,  and  was  a  worker  for  Christ.  He 
spent  his  savings  of  years  to  come  home  to  England  to  try 
and  win  to  the  Lord  a  drunken  mother  ;  all  his  words  failed, 
so  he  had  to  return  to  his  wife  and  his  profession,  in  his 
adopted  country,  with  liis  longing  for  his  mother  unanswered. 
The  habit  of  drunkenness  is  a  sore  evil,  and  many  go  down 
to  an  awful  hell  among  rich  and  poor  rather  than  to  give 
it  UJ1. 

That  young  man  stayed  several  hours  that  Sunday  with 
me,  and  he  told  in  lodging-houses  full  of  perisliing  men, 
what  the  blessed  Saviour  had  done  for  him.  Thiis  I  was 
greatly  cheered  to  go  on  and  try  and  save  hundreds  more  of 
the  young,  taking  them  right  away  to  our  great  Dominion, 
where  there  is  plenty  of  work  and  food,  and  no  need  of 
drink  that  makes  so  many  orphans,  and  so  many  tears  among 
innocent  children. 

An  agent  of  the  New  York  Children's  Aid  Society  fur- 
nishes many  items  of  interest  regarding  some  of  the  chil- 
dren emigrated  twenty  years  ago.  His  report  to  the 
Secretary  of  that  Society  is  as  follows  :  — 


320  STBEET  ARABS  AND  (GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Dear  Sir.,  —  One  would  natural! y  suppose  that  such  a 
Society  as  ours,  ever  ready  to  stretch  out  ungrudgingly  the 
unsectariau  hand  of  pure  benevolence  to  the  orphan  or 
friendless  boy  or  girl,  wherever  found,  would  never  meet 
with  even  the  sliglitest  opposition  in  its  good  work.  Such 
however  is  not  the  case,  for  even  our  Western  emigration, 
which  is  decidedly,  and  deservedly,  the  most  popular  of  all, 
is  subject  to  occasional  attacks,  which  are  most  injurious. 
My  impression  is  that  they  find  their  origin  in  a  lack  of 
thorough  knowledge  of  this  best  of  all  charities ;  possibly 
only  in  a  thoughtless  desire  to  create  an  item  for  publication, 
or  perhaps  in  a  bigoted  prejudice  to  the  removal  of  children 
from  the  influence  of  our  large  cities  to  the  free  thought 
and  Christian  influences  of  Western  homes.  The  following 
will  show,  however,  how  a  newspaper  tirade  may  be  started 
without  the  slightest  foundation  in  fact.  In  October,  1881, 
a  train  on  the  Burlington,  Cedar  Rapids,  and  Northern  Rail- 
way was  wrecked,  near  Mount  Auburn,  causing  the  death 
of  the  engineer.  Unfortunately  for  us,  a  boy  whom  we  had 
sent  to  that  place,  i*everal  years  before,  was  asked  by  a  man 
named  Phillips  to  assist  him  in  wrecking  a  train ;  he  refused 
to  do  so,  and  the  matter  passed  out  of  his  mind.  The  day 
after  tlie  sad  occurrence,  the  boy  informed  the  authorities, 
and  the  man  Phillips  was  arrested.  Phillips,  to  be  revenged, 
stated  that  the  boy  was  an  accom})lice,  and  he  in  turn  was 
arrested.  Believing  fully  in  the  boy's  innocence,  I  employed 
a  lawyer  to  defend  him,  and  the  grand  jury  at  once  refused 
to  indict,  and  dismissed  him.  The  boy  returned  to  his 
employer  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  accident,  and  to-day 
has  the  respect  and  esteem  of  all.  During  the  interval, 
however,  a  Des  Moines  paper  started  the  cry  of  "  Boys  sent 
from  New  York  to  become  train-wreckers  and  fill  our 
prisons."  Other  papers  speedily  copied  it,  and  entertained 
their  readers  with  the  addition  of   their  own  wise    notions 


TBANSPLAXTA  TIOXS. 


321 


about  the  evils  of  sending  boys  from  New  York  to  Western 
homes.  A  few  of  tlie  more  thoug-litful  editors  took  up  the 
other  side,  and  mentioned  many  cases  conung  under  their 
personal  notice,  to  show  that  our  boys,  at  least,  turned  out 
as   well   as    those   born    in    the    West.      But,    as   generally 


happens,  those  who  wrote  against  the  good  work  had  the 
loudest  voices,  were  not  conscientiously  bound  to  confine 
themselves  to  facts,  wrote  sensational  articles,  charging  us 
with  a  thousand  things  with  which  we  had  nothing  to  do, 
and  so  did  us  a  great  amount  of  injury.     ( )ne  gentleman, 


322  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

of  some  standing,  even  went  so  far  in  his  blind  prejudice 
as  to  say,  "•!  don't  believe  that  one  boy  or  girl,  of  the 
thousands  3'ou  have  sent  out,  has  ever  done  well."  I  have 
met  a  large  number  Avho  were  sent  by  our  Society  to  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  West,  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  years  ago, 
and,  as  many  have  "done  well,"  and  some  fill  important 
positions  in  the  communities  in  which  they  live,  I  think 
a  few  facts  from  my  note-book  concerning  them  will  interest 
you.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  give  names  and  addresses  in  full, 
but  I-  am  sure  it  will  be  readily  understood,  that  to  do  so 
would,  at  least  in  many  cases,  be  very  unpleasant  to  those 
of  whom  I  write. 

In  August,  1859,  an  orphan  boy,  David  S.,  aged  twelve, 
was  sent  to  Noblesville,  Indiana,  and  was  placed  with  Mr. 
R.  B.  He  was  sent  to  the  public  school,  fitted  himself  for 
college,  was  graduated,  studied  law,  married  a  3'oung  lady 
of  refinement,  purchased  a  farm,  and  has  built  his  house 
within  a  few  miles  of  the  home  in  Avliich  we  placed  him 
twenty-three  years  ago.  He  is  now  a  justice  of  the  peace, 
one  of  the  leading  citizens,  and  a  man  of  whom  none  speak 
but  in  praise. 

Mary  F.,  a  little  girl  four  years  old,  was  sent  to  the  same 
neighborhood  at  the  same  time,  and  placed  in  the  home  of 
Mr.  J.  W.  She  remained,  filling  the  place  of  a  daughter, 
until  she  married  Mr.  J.  R.,  a  thrifty  farmer.  She  is  now 
the  much-respected  and  ha[)py  mother  of  several  children, 
and  does  not  regret  that  she  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
Children's  Aid  Society. 

The  history  of  Jennie  M.,  an  orphan  aged  five,  in  1859, 
sent  to  J.  E.  B.,  of  Fishersburg,  about  the  same  time,  is  very 
similar  to  that  of  Mary  F.  She  is  married,  and  lives  in  the 
neisfhborhood ;  l)otli  she  and  her  husband  are  members  of 
the  Methodist  E})iscopal  Chnrch,  and  are  doing  well.  The 
happiest  relationship  exists  between  her  and  her  foster- 
parents. 


TBAXSPLAXTA  TIOXS. 


323 


Margaret  B.,  aged  four  in  1859,  is  spoken  of  by  those  who 
took  her,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  C.  M.,  as  a  trusty  and  honorable 
girl.  She  is  married,  and  living  very  happily  with  her 
husband  within  a  few  miles  of  her  old  home. 

Lucy  D.  we  find  living  with  the  family  of  Mr.  E.  H.,  at 

Nol:)lesville,  Indi- 
ana, where  she  was 
placed  in  1859.  All 
we  need  say  of 
Lucy  is  that  she 
is  a  very  nice  girl, 
in  a  very  nice  fam- 
ily, filling  in  every 
respect  the  place 
of  a  daughter. 

John  K.,  aged 
fourteen  in  1859, 
was  placed  with 
Mr.  E.  D.,  of  Cov- 
ington, Indiana. 
He  remained  with 
Mr.  D.  seven  years, 
until  of  age,  and 
then  went  to  work 
for  himself.  He 
has  never  married, 
but  is  yet  at  work 
in  the  neighl)orhood,  and  is  very  steady,  industrious,  and 
saving.  It  is  not  yet  too  late  for  him  to  marry  and  become 
a  useful  citizen. 

John  v.,  who  went  to  the  same  neighborhood  at  the  same 
time,  married,  and  died  two  years  ago,  leaving  his  widow 
and  children  ujjon  the  farm  he  had  gained  by  his  industry. 
He  had  the  respect  and  esteem  of  all. 


324  STliKET  AlLUiS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Tlioinas  J.  S.,  aged  eight,  sent  to  Crawfordsville  in  1859, 
and  placed  with  JNlr.  Silas  J.,  is  regarded  certainly  by  Mrs. 
J.  as  her  own  son,  and  lie  undoubtedly  feels  that  she  has 
been  to  him  all  that  a  mother  could  be.  He  has  been  all 
over  the  world,  but  says  he  could  never  forget  her  teachings. 
He  is  now  Avorking  at  Peru,  Indiana,  as  a  house-painter. 
He  often  calls  upon  the  old  folks,  and  is  in  every  way 
a  most  worthy  man. 

B.  D.,  aged  ten  when  ])laced  with  Mr.  D.  W.  G.,  at 
Russellville,  Indiana,  is  reported  by  Mr.  G.  as  a  bright, 
industrious  fellow.  He  remained  till  of  age,  and  then  went 
to  Illinois,  where  he  is  now  doing  well  as  a  farmer. 

William  K.  was  nine  when  placed  with  ]\Ir.  D.  V.,  of 
Crawfordsville,  in  1859.  He  is  still  at  work  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. He  is  an  honest,  industrious  man,  free  from  bad 
habits,  an  excellent  farm-hand  who  is  never  out  of  employ- 
ment. 

William  H.,  aged  nine  in  1860,  when  placed  Avith  Mr. 
Adam  B.,  of  Frankfort,  remaining  with  Mr.  B.'s  family  until 
1879.  He  is  now  one  of  the  first,  if  not  the  leading,  lawyer 
of  F.  He  married  an  excellent  lady,  one  of  his  early 
schoolmates,  and  has  several  very  interesting  children,  and' 
a  very  snug  home.  He  held  the  olfice  of  county  clerk  for  a 
long  time,  and  is  now  a  candidate  for  the  office  of  prosecuting- 
attorney.  He  has  the  respect  and  esteem  of  the  conununity, 
is  widely  known,  and  spoken  of  as  a  useful  citizen,  and  is 
a  ofentleman  of  considerable  means. 

Emma  R.  was  but  six  when  placed  with  ]\Ir.  A.  H.  S.,  of 
Frankfort.  Emma  is  spoken  of  in  the  highest  terms  by  her 
foster-parents.  She  married  Mr.  David  J.,  a  highly  respect- 
able farmer,  who  died  a  short  time  ago,  leaving  her  with  two 
children. 

Jennie  McC,  about  the  same  age,  and  who  went  to  Frank- 
fort at  the  same  time,  did  remarkably  well.     She    married 


rHAXSPLANTA  TIONS.  325 

Mr.  R.,  a  merchant,  in  business  in  Reading,  Peinisylvania, 
and  is  now  living  there. 

Thomas  A.,  aged  eight  in  1860,  placed  with  Mr.  T.,  of 
Frankfort,  has  turned  out  a  res])ectable  workman.  I  found 
him  at  work  upon  the  new  school  building.  He  is  married, 
and  owns  a  house  and  several  acres  of  land  at  the  edge  of 
the  town. 

John  E.,  one  of  the  same  company,  has  become  a  very 
successful  scene-painter.  He  owns  property  and  is  doing 
a  good  business  at  Kansas  City,  Missouri. 

Mary  C,  aged  seven  in  1860,  placed  with  Dr.  A.  N.  S.,  of 
Frankfort,  received  a  very  liberal  education,  and  grew  to  be 
a  refined  and  amiable  30ung  lady.  She  is  married  to  Dr.  H., 
one  of  the  leading  physicians  of  Kokomo. 

William  M.,  sent  West  in  1860,  is  married,  and  living  at 
Frankfort.  He  is  a  member  of  the  church,  and  much 
interested  in  Sabbath-school  work.  He  is  a  self-made  man, 
having  received  a  college  education,  and  a  knowledge  of  law, 
through  his  own  exertions.  Mr.  M.  is  spoken  of,  by  those 
who  know  him  best,  as  a  very  promising  young  lawj^er  and 
an  excellent  man. 

Robert  H.,  sent  to  Greenfield,  Indiana,  in  1868,  is  married, 
and  owns  a  farm  at  Mount  Comfort.  He  teaches  the  district 
school  during  the  winter,  and  is  very  widely  known  and 
res})ected. 

George  G.,  who  went  to  Greenfield  at  the  same  time,  is 
also  teaching  school  in  Grant  County,  but  is  unmarried. 

William  F.,  who  was  ten  years  of  age  in  1859,  was  placed 
with  Dr.  L.,  of  Marion,  Indiana.  He  soon  developed  a  taste 
for  study,  and  was  sent  to  college.  He  was  graduated  with 
honor,  studied  medicine  with  Dr.  L.,  came  back  to  New  York, 
and  spent  two  years  in  the  hospitals  of  the  city  ;  returned 
to  Marion  and  is  now  assisting  Dr.  L.,  and  fast  building  up 
a   practice    of   his    own.     He   is    a    young  man  of   pleasing 


326 


STREET  ARABS  xiXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


manner,    with    rare    ability,    and    will    no     doubt    be    very 
successful  in  his  profession. 

M.  D.,  a  lad  of  nine,  who  went  at  the  same  time,  twenty- 
three  years  ago,  developed  a  taste  fur  art.  I  saw  some  speci- 
mens of  his  work,  portraits  and 
sculpture,  which  were  indeed  very 
creditable,  and  far  above  the  avei- 
age  of   their  kind.      He   is    married, 

o 

and  at  present  in  business  at  Piqua, 
Ohio. 

The  following,  relating  to  one  of 
our  boys,  I  took  from  an  Indiana 
paper :  "  For  Clerk  of  the 
Circuit  Court,  the 
convention  nomi- 
nated Charles 
Downing.  Mr. 
Downing  is  a 
you  n  g  ni  a  n  of 
good,  industrious 
habits,  and  emi- 
nently competent 
for  the  position. 
He  was  born  in 
the  City  of  New 
York,  August  7. 
1857.  At  the  age 
of  four  his  i»ar- 
ents  died,  and  he 
was  placed  in  an 
orphan  asylum,  where  he  remained  until  1867,  Avhen  he  was 
sent  West  to  find  a  home  among  its  generous  and  kind- 
hearted  citizens.  He  was  taken  charge  of  by  Mrs.  Wood, 
one  of   the   best  and  truest-hearted  women  in  the  countrv. 


TBANSPLANTATI0N8.  327 

She  trained  him  in  the  paths  of  virtue,  honesty,  industry,  and 
personal  integrity,  and,  to  his  credit,  he  has  never  departed 
therefrom.  On  the  fourth  of  November,  1874,  he  was 
appointed  Deputy  Clerk  of  Hancock  Circuit  Court,  which 
position  he  holds  to  this  day,  and  has  ever  been  faithful, 
competent,  and  true  to  liis  trust.  Mr.  D.  is  a  member  of  the 
Christian  Church :  he  is  also  an  honored  member  of  the 
I.  O.  O.  F.  A  young  man  of  rare  business  tact  and  talent, 
and  is  just  upon  the  threshold  of  many  rare  possibilities. 
We  are  satisfied  from  personal  observation  extending 
through  many  years,  that  he  will  make  a  competent,  faith- 
ful, and  strictly  impartial  officer."  Mr.  D.  is  a  gentleman  of 
ver}'  pleasing  manner,  and  seems  to  be  a  general  favorite. 
He  is  married,  and  has  just  built  a  really  fine  residence  at 
Greenfield,  adjoining  the  home  of  Mrs.  Moore,  the  lady 
whom  he  looks  upon  as  a  mother. 

Another  of  our  boys  sent  to  Fort  Dodge,  Iowa,  twelve 
years  ago,  is  now  stenographer  in  the  Circuit  Court  of 
Minneapolis,  Minnesota,  receiving  a  salary  of  thirty-five 
hundred  dollars  per  annum.  Another  who  went  at  the 
same    time  we   find   to   be    a   civil   engineer,  at  St.   Louis. 

Ernest  L.,  of  the  same  party,  is  a  prominent  musician,  at 
Marion,  Linn  County,.  Indiana,  and  M.  McN.,  who  was  sent 
to  Racine,  Wisconsin,  twenty-four  years  ago,  is  a  druggist, 
doino-  a  larse  business  at  St.  Paul,  Minnesota.  I  have  many 
more  names  in  my  note-book,  but  it  seems  really  superfluous 
to  mention  them.  Tlie  truth  is,  not  all  the  boys  we  send 
out  become  doctors  or  lawyers,  but  a  very  large  majority 
become  respectable  and  useful  citizens.  The  work  is  no 
longer  an  experiment,  but  an  unquestionable   success. 

The  following  table  shows  what  has  been  done  by  the 
Children's  Aid  Society  in  emigration,  in  each  year,  since 
1853.     Aggregate,  67,287. 


328 


8TBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 


To  February   1 

1 
11  11  ^ 

1 
11  11  A 

11  11  i 

H  11  ^ 

11  11  1 

1 

11  11  1 

1 

11  11  -'^ 

11  11  '■ 

11  11  '^ 

1 


1854 207    To  November!,    1869     (nine 


1855... 
1850... 
1857... 
18.58... 
IS.oi).  .. 
1800... 
1861... 
1862... 
1863... 
1864... 
186.-. ... 

1866 1,450 

1867 1.664 

1868 1,943 

1869 2,263 


863 
936 
742 
733 
779 
814 
804 
884 
791 
1,034 
1,235 


months) 1,930 

November  1,1870  (one  year)  2,757 

1,1871 3,386 

1,1872 3,462 

1,1873 3,701 

1,1874 3,985 

1,1875 4,026 

1,1876 3,989 

1,1877 3.808 

1,1878 3,818 

1,1879 3,713 

1,1880 3,764 

1, 1881 3,849 

1,1882 3,957 

Total 67,287 


There  have  been  provided  with  homes  and   employment 

during  1882:  — 

Boys 2,167 

Girls 1,507 

Men 101 

Women 182 


Total 3.957 

The  New  York  Juvenile  Asylum  has  also  transjilanted 
many  a  child  from  the  slums  of  the  city  to  the  homes  of  the 
prairies.     The  following  letters  speak  for  themselves :  — 

G.  W.  S.  came  to  Illinois  in  1862,  then  aged  thirteen, 
now  thirty-three.  He  writes :  I  was  brought  to  Illinois  by 
the  Asylum  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  and  indentured  to  Mr.  J. 
Heath,  of  Belvidere.  Mr.  Heath  died  several  years  before 
I  was  of  age,  but  I  remained  with  the  family  till  I  was 
twenty-four,  working  the  farm  on  shares  after  I  was  twenty- 
one.  When  I  was  twenty-four  I  was  married,  and  two 
years  afterward  I  bouglit  myself  a  farm  of  eighty  acres,  on 
which  I  still  remain.     I  have  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl. 


TBAXSPLANTATIONS.  329 

and  I  will  enclose  a  photograph  of  myself  and  family.  My 
wife  is  a  member  of  the  Baptist  Church,  and  we  attend 
regularly.  T  am  in  very  comfortable  and  prosperous  circum- 
stances. I  want  to  say  to  the  boys  and  girls,  that  yovi  must 
obey  your  guardians,  and  take  an  interest  in  your  work.  I 
found  that  it  was  better  to  try  to  please  than  to  be  saucy 
and  disobedient.  Several  of  the  boys  of  vaj  company  left 
their  places,  and  that  made  people  think  that  New  York 
boys  were  of  no  account,  which  made  me  feel  indignant,  and 
I  determined  to  show  that  I  could  stay  through  my  time. 
Those  who  leave  their  homes  are  almost  sure  to  fall  into 
temptation,  while  those  who  stay  till  they  are  of  age  have 
better  habits,  and  are  better  capable  of'  managing  their 
affairs  successfully. 

W.  C  H.  came  to  Illinois  in  18(56,  then  aged  seven,  now 
twenty-two.  He  writes :  I  was  seven  years  old  when  I 
came  to  Illinois,  and  I  am  now  twenty-two.  I  still  remain 
in  the  home  where  I  was  indentured  fifteen  years  ago. 
Three  of  my  sisters  came  to  the  West  with  me,  and  two  of 
them  are  now  married,  and  all  are  doing  well.  My  foster- 
parents  are  good  Christian  people,  and  my  life  has  been 
pleasant,  though  I  have  had  to  work  hard  sometimes ;  but  it 
is  not  so  hard  when  one  gets  well  paid  for  it.  My  advice  to 
the  boys  and  girls  is  to  strive  to  be  loved  by  everybody,  and 
if  you  are  scolded,  see  if  you  are  not  at  fault  yourself.  You 
can  gain  the  affection  of  your  guardians  if  you  will  try,  and 
then  they  will  be  kind  to  you.  Affection  is  like  a  plant 
that  needs  cultivation  to  make  it  thrive.  How  thankful  we 
ought  to  be  to  those  who  have  given  us  homes  and  oppor- 
tunities to  become  successful  and  useful  men  and  women. 
May  God  bless  them  in  their  good  work. 

C.  G.  came  to  Illinois  in  1875,  then  aged  thirteen,  now 
twenty.  She  writes :  I  was  in  the  Asylum  about  a  year, 
and  I  did  not  want  to  come  West,  but  I  am  not  sorry  now. 


330 


STREET  AEABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


though  I  did  not  fare  very  well  during  my  aj)prenticeship. 
^ly  employer  died,  and  my  mistress  not  being  in  good  cir- 
cumstances, I  had  to  go  out  to  service.  But  I  have  been 
doing  nicely  since  then.  I  have  a  splendid  place.  The  lady 
is  like  a  mother  to  me.     I  can  do  anv  kind  of  housework. 


NOW    AND    THEN, 

and  can  play  on  the  organ.  I  attend  church. and  Sunday- 
school,  and  I  have  taught  the  infant  class  for  several  months. 
I  have  had  a  hard  lot.  My  father  was  a  drunkard,  and  my 
mother  W(  »uld  not  take  care  of  me,  and  that  was  the  reason 
I  was  taken  to  the  Asj'lum ;  but  I  think  I  slxall  come  out 
as  well  as  the  best.  Tell  the  Asylum  children  that,  if  they 
do  have  a  hard  time,  they  Avill  never  be  sorry  for  coming 


TBANSPLANTATIOXS.  .  331 

West,  if  they  do  right  and  follow  God's  commands.  Please 
send  me  the  next  Annual  Report.     I  like  to  read  the  letters. 

S.  S.  came  to  Illinois  in  1875,  then  aged  twelve,  now 
nineteen.  He  writes :  I  have  heen  out  West  seven  years. 
For  the  first  two  and  a  half  years  I  was  not  contented,  and 
I  had  four  different  homes  before  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
settle  down  and  stay.  But  now  I  am  as  Avell  satisfied  as 
I  could  wish  to  be,  and  I  can  truthfully  say  that  I  am  glad 
I  came  West,  and  it  has  been  the  making  of  me.  I  would 
advise  all  the  Asylum  children  to  come  out  here,  even  though 
their  parents  are  able  to  take  care  of  them.  And  I  would 
say  to  them :  "  If  you  are  dissatisfied,  keep  steadily  on,  and 
when  you  get  older  voii  Avill  learn  to  call  those  friends  who 
now  seem  to  be  enemies,  and  they  will  be  the  first  to  help  you 
in  time  of  need."  ^ 

M.  M.  H.  came  to  Illinois  in  1875,  tlien  aged  thirteen,  now 
twenty.  She  writes:  My  life  in  the  West  has  l)een  very 
pleasant.  I  came  out  seven  years  ago,  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
and  I  am  still  a  member  of  the  family  in  which  I  was  a|)pren- 
ticed.  I  have  ever  received  the  kindest  treatment  from  every 
one,  and  I  am  indebted  to  them  for  brightening  a  life  that 
otherwise  might  have  been  spent  in  poverty  and  distress. 
In  addition  to  a  happy  home,  I  have  had  the  advantage  of 
good  schools,  for  which  I  am  thankful.  This  is  a  pleasant 
village.  There  are  two  colleges,  and  the  people  are  culti- 
vated. My  little  brother  Joseph,  who  came  out  with  me, 
has  a  home  with  a  farmer  near  by,  and  I  see  him  often,  which 
adds  greatly  to  my  liappiness.  I  have  many  friends,  and  I 
feel  that  Providence,  through  the  instrumentality  of  the 
Asylum,  has  given  me  a  fortunate  condition  in  life.  I  would 
advise  the  apprentices  to  be  respectful  to  their  guardians. 
They  will  secure  kindness  and  sympathy  by  doing  their 
duties  ungrudgingly  and  witli   a  cheerful  spirit. 

F.  T.  came    to    Illinois  in    1875,  tlien    aged   eleven,  now 


332  STREET  ARABS  AXD  aUTTER  SNIPES. 

eighteen.  He  writes :  I  have  been  in  one  home  all  the  time 
and  I  have  served  my  employer  faithfully.  In  addition  to 
one  hundred  dollars,  I  am  to  have  a  team  of  horses  when  I 
am  twent3'-one,  and  I  am  to  have  a  farm  to  work  on  my  own 
account.  I  have  got  a  good  farming  education,  and  I  always 
.shall  be  a  farmer.  My  employer  has  two  other  Asylum  boys, 
and  they  both  are  doing  well.  When  I  came  West  I  was 
sickly  and  had  sore  eyes,  and  I  was  left  after  all  the  other 
boys  had  been  taken.  Late  in  the  evening  a  lady  came  in 
and  took  me  home.  I  did  not  like  it  at  first,  but  I  have 
learned  to  like  it  very  much.  There  are  a  number  of  boys 
in  this  neighborhood  that  are  doing  well,  but  some  of  the 
boys  of  my  company  left  their  places,  and  though  they  are 
now  about  twentj^-one,  they  are  not  only  worth  nothing,  but 
they  have  bad  characters,  which  shows  plainly  that  it  does 
not  pay  to  run  away.  My  mother  is  in  the  Insane  Asylum 
on  BlackwelFs  Island.  I  would  like  to  go  and  see  her  if  it 
would  be  wise.  My  employer  would  like  to  have  you  come 
and  see  us  all.  I  am  trying  to  be  a  Christian.  I  hope  3'ou 
will  answer  this  letter.  May  God  bless  all  who  are  engaged 
in  this  good  work. 

Selections  from  various  journals :  — 

M.  F.,  a  motherless  little  girl,  deserted  by  her  father,  and 
left  for  three  weeks  on  the  streets  to  live  and  sleep  as  best 
she  could,  was  brought  to  the  Home  b}'  another  little  girl  at 
midnight,  drenched  with  rain  and  very  miserable,  but  soon 
became  bright,  active,  quick  at  work,  and  attentive.  After 
a  little  training  she  was  taken  to  Canada. 

J.  P.,  a  London  orphan,  who  was  training  for  a  jockey 
when  rescued  by  Miss  Macpherson,  had  sufiicient  ''  cuteness  " 
to  see  that  if  he  were  obedient  a  new  and  more  useful  life 
was  before  him.  After  some  months  in  the  Home  of 
Industry    he    was    taken   to    Canada,    where    he    has    given 


PAST  AND    PRESENT. 


TRANSPLANTA  TIONS. 


335 


satisfaction,  kei)t  his  first  situation,  and  repaid  his  passage- 
money. 

F.  G.,  one  of  a  poor  oppressed  East  End  family,  whose 
friends  could  not  give  him  the  education  his  abilities 
deserved,  nor  get  work  for  him  to  do,  was  taken  to  Canada 
where  he  was  articled  to  a  lawyer,  and  is  likely  U'\  become 
a  useful  and  prosperous  man. 

J.  S.,  once  a  poor  matchbox-stamper,  with  hard-working 
parents,  struggling  to  keep  the  family  respectable.  He  is 
now  a  bonny  farmer's 
boy,  has  kept  his  first 
situation,  is  doing  well, 
and  will  most  likely  be 
the  means  of  the  whole 
family's  departure  for 
Canada. 

G.  B.,  one  of  a  family 
of  five  children,  deserted 
by  their  father,  when  the 
poor  mother  was  left  to 
struggle  in  vain  to  get  sufficient  bread  for  tliem  to  eat. 
George  is  now  in  a  happy  Canadian  home. 

W.  H.,  a  poor  orphan  boy,  —  turned  on  the  streets  by  his 
aunt,  to  beg  or  earn  something  for  her,  and  left  to  come  to 
rags,  filth,  and  starvation,  —  was  in  an  extremely  destitute 
condition  when  admitted  to  the  Home.  He  proved  by  his 
good  conduct,  and  gentle  behavior,  his  appreciation  of  the 
kindness  shown  to  him. 

W.  G.,  was  brought  one  afternoon  l)y  a  kind  policeman 
who  had  taken  tea  at  the  Home  of  Industry  and  heard  Miss 
Macpherson  say :  "  I  love  these  friendless  children  for 
Jesus'  sake."  His  mother  had  died  in  the  Hospital  tliree 
years  before,  and  his  father  eighteen  months  after  in  the 
Union  ;  since  that  time  this  little  orphan  boy  had  lived  on 
\ 


"(^^J 


336  STEEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

Avithout  a  home  or  a  bed,  no  one  caring  for  him,  wliile  he 
picked  up  bones  or  rags,  and  scraps  of  paper,  to  sell  for 
Inead  ;  but  a  loving  Father  in  heaven  caused  this  policeman 
to  find  the  little  wanderer  sleeping  in  a  dusthole  and  bring 
him  to  the  Home.  AVillie  proved  a  quiet,  oljedient.  gentle 
child. 

H.  B.  —  Both  })arents  living,  who  were  once  in  respectable 
circumstances,  but  the  lather's  drinking  habits  reduced  the 
family  to  the  streets,  where,  bv  begging  or  singing,  they 
lived  from  day  to  day.  tramping  the  country  and  sleeping  in 
lodging-houses.  This  lad  had  been  for  live  years  a  street- 
singer  when  admitted   to  the  Home. 

One  of  the  most  intelligent  and  indefatigable  workers  in 
this  department  is  Miss  Ellen  A.  Bilbrough,  of  Belleville, 
Ontario.  Sacrificing  home,  position,  and  personal  enjoy- 
ments, she  has  brought  her  splendid  executive  ability  into 
requisition  in  Canada  both  in  receiving  and  in  locating  the 
children  who  pass  through  her  hands.  Her  example  has  not 
been  lost  on  Engrlish  and  Canadian  ladies,  manv  of  whom 
second  her  in  her  whole-hearted  earnestness  to  pro^'ide 
destitute  and  deserving  children  with  carefully -selected 
homes  under  the  glorious  sky  of  Ontario. 

Thus  writes  a  visitor  :  — 

At  an  early  h<»ur  on  tlie  lirst  morning.  Miss  Bilbrough  and 
I  started  off  in  a  buggy  for  a  long  drive.  Having  taken 
a  wrong  turning,  and  at  last  found  ourselves  in  a  cul-de-sac^ 
we  are  compelled  to  retrace  our  steps  for  two  or  three  miles, 
and  consequently  lose  a  good  deal  of  time,  and  it  is  nearly 
four  o'clock  before  we  arrived  at  the  house  of  Mr.  V.,  who 
appears  to  he  a  successful  farmer  and  an  earnest  Christian. 
While  they  are  preparing  a  meal  for  us,  we  chat  with  two 
little  l)r()thers,  Tommy  and  Freddy,  twelve  and  eleven  years 
old.     "We  iind  that  they  have  been  there  six  years.     They 


TBANSPLANTA  TIONS.  337 

seem  to  be  exceedingly  happy,  and  to  have  been  well 
educated.  They  still  go  to  school  at  certain  times  of  the 
year,  and  are  hardly  big  enough  yet  to  be  of  ^'•nich  use  on 
the  farm.  They  are  two  bright  little  fellows,  and  one 
cannot  help  thinking  how  much  happier  they  are  here  than 
if  they  had  been  brought  up  in  a  large  pauper-school  in 
England. 

We  next  visited  Mr.  M.'s,  a  Quaker  fandly,  where  we 
find  a  girl  about  fourteen  years  old,  who  has  been  there  six 
years,  and  who,  when  in  London,  lived  in  that  dreadful 
locality  in  Spitaliields,  Flower  and  Dean  Street.  There  is 
another  girl,  Lizzie,  who  is  much  younger,  and  who  came 
out  from  the  old  country  with  her  brother  Henry,  who  at 
this  time  is  out  at  work  with  his  master.  They  all  seem  to 
be  good  children,  very  well  cared  for,  and  very  happy. 

Letter  from  a  transplanted  boy  :  — 

I  have  been  very  sorry  that  I  have  not  written  since  I 
came,  because  I  had  inflamed  eyes,  and  I  hope  they  are  all 
keeping  well  in  the  Home,  Mr.  Muir  and  his  wife  and  the 
boys,  and  I  hope  mother  and  father  's  keeping  well,  and  all 
the  other  friends. 

I  like  this  country  well,  and  I  like  my  new  home  that 
I  am  in,  and  the  people  are  very  kind  to  me.  I  call  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bacon  father  and  mother,  and  Julia  and  Eliza  my  sisters,, 
and  Ned  and  Sam  my  two  brothers.  I  can  drive  the  horses, 
milk  the  cows ;  not  a  good  hand  at  chopping  wood  yet.  I 
had  as  many  apples  as  I  could  eat ;  we  preserved  our  plums. 
I  like  pumpkin-pie,  but  I  never  had  it  till  I  came  to  Canada. 
We  have  meat  and  potatoes  to  l)reakfast,  and  again  for 
dinner,  with  pie  and  apple-sauce,  or  crab-apples  or  raspberries 
and  sweetcake,  so  you  see  there  is  no  danger  of  jny  starving. 
My  master  is  going  to  get  me  two  sheep  and  put  them  out 
to  double.     I  go  to    Sunday-school    every  Sunday,  and  the 


338  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

church  is  just  up  at  the  corner.  I  go  there  every  Sunday. 
Unless  my  eyes  get  quite  well,  I  sha'n't  go  to  school  this 
winter.  My  master  is  a  good  man,  and  very  kind  to  me. 
I  hope  all  the  boys  who'  came  out  iiave  as  good  homes 
as  I  liave.  I  often  think  of  all  your  good  advice.  "  The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd."'     I  remain,  your  A^ery  grateful  boy, 

J.  F. 

From  another  writer,  I  copy  this  touching  incident :  — 
Christmas  was  keeping  in  the  great  City,  by  solemn 
services  and  joyous  home-gatherings ;  but  no  such  cheer 
.came  to  little  Willie,  nor  to  the  numberless  other  children 
just  as  poor  and  sad  and  friendless,  whose  only  home  was 
London  streets.  Yes !  Christians  were  commemorating 
their  Lord's  humility,  and  as  he  was  absent  now  in  the 
glory,  they  lavished  choice  costly  flowers  on  the  Christmas 
decorations  of  their  churches,  thinking  to  do  him  honor,  to 
whom  they  would  so  gladly  bring  their  rarest  gifts  were 
he  only  once  more  in  need,  and  homeless  upon  earth. 

It  needs  that  the  eyes  be  sharpened  by  the  heart-love 
to  him,  ere  they  can  trace  the  likeness  to  the  Babe  of  Beth- 
lehem in  the  diseased,  famine-stricken  woe-begone  little 
children,  whose  only  shelter  is  a  dust-bin,  a  railway-arch, 
a  gas-pipe,  a  market-barrow,  or  tlie  cold  turf  under  a  bush ; 
and  so  his  precious  little  ones  perish,  Avhile  men  pursue  their 
own  ways  of  pleasure  or  business,  heedless  of  the  young 
sad  lives  that  are  lengthening  out  in  woe  close  beside  them. 
'■'  The  young  children  cry  for  bread,  and  no  man  breaketh 
it  unto  them  "  (Lam.  iv,  4). 

Could  it  1)6  that  the  Lord  was  in  London  that  Christmas- 
tide,  pleading  in  the  person  of  the  little  loveless,  homeless 
children  for  food  and  shelter  and  love  ?  and  that  once  more 
the  chill  earth  flung  the  •answer  back  to  astonished  hosts 
of  angels,  '•''There  is  no  room  for  Him"'? 


TliAXSPLAXTATrOXS.  339 

'•  I  wanted  money,  and  I  wanted  bread, 
I  wanted  all  that  willing  hearts  could  do; 
I  wanted  the  quick  ear  and  ready  eye  — 
Aye,  the  deep  true  soul  of  sympathy ; 
I  wanted  help,  and  then  I  called  for  thee, 
I  called,  and  waited,  and  then  called  again : 
Oh!  could  it  be  that  I  should  call  in  vain? 

I  called,  and  waited, 

And  thou  didst  not  come."" 

Days  and  weeks  went  on,  and  little  Willie  made  his  home 
under  that  shridj.  In  the' daytime  he  wandered  out  to  beg 
coppers  from  the  "  Gemmens  ''  passing  by,  and  gather  up 
the  scraps  of  vegetables,  or  bits  of  meat  and  fish,  the  refuse 
of  some  coster's  barrow  ;  but  always  .back  at  night  to  the 
bush  in  St.  James's  Park. 

To  all  appearance  it  seemed  that  little  Willie's  crushed 
spirit  must  break  beneath  its  weight  of  care.  Constant 
exposure  to  cold  and  damp  had  brought  on  a  painful  hack- 
ing cough,  and,  from  lack  of  nourishment,  the  child  grew 
so  Aveak  that  he  could  scarcely  crawl  from  the  bush.  "  I 
coughed,  and  I  coughed,  and  I  coughed,  till  I  could  cough 
no  more,"  were  his  own  words  in  telling  his  story. 

Within  sight  of  the  palaces  of  the  wealthy,  sorrow  had 
broken  a  j^oung  lieart  that  love  might  heal ;  a  life  was  fast 
ebbing  away,  that  might  be  saved  by  the  mere  crumbs  which 
fell  from  the  tables  of  the  rich. 

But  all  the  while  a  Father  in  heaven  was  watching;  over 
his  little  child  astray  in  the  wilderness.  Tlie  God  who  in 
ancient  days  heard  the  lad  Ishraaers  cry  as  he  lay  dying  of 
thirst  under  a  bush,'  saw  little  Willie  in  that  West-end  Park, 
and  sent  him  help  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

•    "For  the  Shepherd  knows  his  own 
Everywhere ; 
Though  the  jiillow  be  a  stone, 
And  none  other  hear  the  groan, 
Christ  is  near." 


340  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

A  day  in  February  came,  long  memorable  as  that  of  the 
great  snowstorm.  Large  flakes  fell  and,  mixing  with  the 
soot  and  mud,  lay  in  dense  blackened  masses  on  the  roofs, 
streets,  and  parks,  till  it  was  snow,  snow,  everywhere. 
Thicker  and  thicker  it  fell,  almost  burying  our  little  Willie, 
for  he  was  too  weak  and  ill,  and  benumbed  with  cold,  to 
stir  from  his  hiding-place. 

A  policeman  pacing  up  a  sidewalk  in  the  park,  vainly 
flung  his  arms  to  and  fro  to  check  the  cold,  and  whistled 
loudly  to  keep  up  his  spirits.  Suddenly  his  curiosity  was 
aroused  by  noticing  a  heap  of  something  under  one  of  the 
shrubs.  And  there,  oh !  horrible  to  relate,  he  found  a  small 
human  being  lying  curled  up,  so  white  and  cold  and  still, 
that  he  had  some  difiiculty  to  ascertain  whether  or  no  life 
were  extinct.  He  carefully  lifted  him  from  his  miserable 
couch,  and  finding  that  the  child  still  breathed,  unbuttoned 
his  great-coat,  and  wrapping  it  round  him,  hurried  with  his 
burden  to  the  police-station.  There  the  kind  man  chafed 
Willie's  stiff  limbs  by  the  warm  fire,  and  revived  the  fam- 
ished child  with  spoonfuls  of  hot  bread  and  milk.  Then  he 
took  oft'  his  wet  rags  and  put  him  to  bed.  Another  police- 
man came  in,  and  when  he  saw  the  child,  determined  that 
he  would  ask  the  magistrate's  leave  next  day  to  inquire  at 
a  refuge  for  friendless  children,  if  little  Willie  could  be 
taken  in.  He  had  been  to  a  tea  given  to  policemen  at  this 
Home,  and  his  feelings  had  been  touched  by  seeing  numbers 
of  children  who  were  once  destitute  and  miserable  so 
lovingly  cared  for. 

Sir  Robert  Garden  readily  gave  permission,  and  Willie 
went  with  the  kind  policeman  to  a  very  large  house.  Over 
the  door  there  was  a  board  bearing  this  inscription :  "  Jesus 
beheld  the  city,  and  wept  over  it."  In  the  windows  there 
were  beautiful  texts,  in  large  royal  blue  letters  on  white 
ground.     Such  comforting  Bible  words  of  welcome  to  the 


I 


RESCUED   AND    HAPPY. 


TRANSPLANTATIONS.  343 

outcast,  and  jjarclon  to  the  sinful ;  one  felt  instinctively 
that  this  was  a  Home  where  the  sorrowful  and  hniely  would 
be  loved  and  comforted  for  Jesus'  sake. 

When  they  rapped  at  the  door,  it  was  speedily  opened, 
and  a  warm  greeting  awaited  them.  Few  words  were 
needed,  for  the  case  spoke  for  itself;  for  there  stood  little 
Willie,  shoeless,  shirtless,  almost  naked,  except  for  a  few 
of  the  dirtiest  rags.  His  bones  peeped  through  the  emaci- 
ated skin ;  a  large  scald  on  the  forehead  and  crown  of  the 
wellnigh  bald  head ;  the  pale  wan  weary  face,  with  deep 
sad  hopeless  eyes,  and  lips  which  nothing  could  move  into 
a  smile,  —  all  bore  a  terrible  testimony  to  the  hard,  j)ainful 
life  of  physical  and  mental  suffering,  caused  by  want,  star- 
vation, and  ill-usage,  which  had  combined  to  render  that 
little  child  the  greatest  object  of  pity  ever  seen. 

At  the  station  the  little  emigrants  as  usual  repeated  some 
texts  at  Miss  Macpherson's  request.  Each  child  chose  his 
own.  When  it  came  to  Willie's  turn,  he  said  :  "  He  loved 
me  and  gtive  himself  for  me." 

It  was  not  very  long  before  friends  found  a  permanent 
home  for  this  dear  child.  A  Canadian  farmer  adopted  him, 
giving  him  his  own  surname,  and  treating  him  in  every  way 
as  a  son.  Willie's  health  is  quite  restored ;  he  is  as  strong 
and  plucky  a  boy  as  one  would  wish  to  see,  after  four  years' 
residence  in  that  bright  Canadian  land. 

Soon  after  he  went  out,  he  wrote  to  one  of  the  ladies  at 
Gait:  "I  write  these  few  lines  to  you  in  hopes  that  this  may 
find  you  quite  well,  as  this  leaves  me  at  present.  I  hear 
that  you  are  going  home  to  England  now.  I  am  getting 
better  by  now.  I  can  read  pretty  good,  and  do  cums  [sums] 
better  now.  I  can  work  on  the  farm,  and  I  have  a  yoak 
of  oxen,  and  I  am  going  to  y()ak  them  up  this  winter. 

"  I  have  a  pear  of  white  rabbits  with  red  eyes,  and  they 
are  in  bed.     I  have  a  nice  calf,  I  feed  it  every  day.     Father 


344  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

is  going  to  2)ut  me  in  a  singing-class.  I  have  had  five  pair 
of  boots  this  twelvemonth.  I  have  a  nice  dog,  and  her 
name  is  fan.  Father  makes  me  learn  a  task  every  Sunday 
because  there  is  no  Sunday  school  near  hand.  I  wish  you 
would   send   me   your   likeness   before   you   go  to    the    old 

country,  give  my  love  to .     Please  tell  them  in  England 

that  I  have  got  a  good  home  and  well  off  in  Canada." 

Will  you  ask  Jesus  to  open  your  eyes,  and  put  his  own 
love  into  your  hearts  this  Christmas,  and  teach  you  how 
you  may  help  him  to  seek  and  save  the  lost,  for  it  is  not 
his  will  that  one  of  these  little  ones  should  perish. 

" '  Call  thoin  iu,"  the  little  children, 
Tarrying  far  away  — away, 
Wait,  oh!  wait  not  for  to-morrow, 
Christ  would  have  them  come  to-day. 

"Hai'k!  upon  the  crowded  highway, 
And  amid  the  city's  din. 
Sounds  a  child's  voice,  sweet  and  solemn  — 

'  Oh  !  he  sure  and  call  them  in.' '' 

I  have  already  emphasized  the  fact  that  energy,  tact, 
patience,  and  self-denial  are  required  for  the  rescue  of  the 
friendless  waifs  of  our  streets.  As  for  pleasure  and  profit, 
these  have  to  be  considered  in  another  light  than  are  valued 
in  this  metallic  age.  We  cannot  deny  that  there  is  deep, 
profound  enjoyment  in  this  self-imposed  task  :  if  there  are 
thorns,  there  are  also  roses;  if  pains,  there  are  also  gains; 
if  drawbacks,  there  are  delights.  I  remember  once  plunging 
into  the  sea  to  rescue  a  hidy  who  had  been  swept  out  by  the 
treacherous  inidertow  IVom  a  bathing  resort  on  the  Jersey 
shore.  Her  first  words  uttered  in  the  joyful  consciousness 
of  safety  thrilled  my  whole  being  and  were  an  abundant 
reward  for  the  risk  involved  in  the  effort :  "  Thank  you,  you 
have  saved  me."  They  are  simple  words  ;  a  child  could 
utter   them.     But  iinder  those  circumstances,  remembering 


TBANSPLANTA  TIONS.  345 

the  uplifted  face,  grateful  look,  and  the  serious  earnestness 
with  which  she  spoke  them,  they  remain  a  joyful  recollection 
with  me.  They  are  words  of  life  and  ample  reward,  and 
have  been  a  spur  to  duty  and  a  solace  in  depression. 

"  Not  many  lives,  but  only  one,  have  we  — 

One,  only  one ; 
How  precious  should  that  one  life  ever  be  — 

That  little  span ! 
Day  after  day  filled  up  with  blessed  toil. 
Hour  after  hour  still  bringing  in  new  spoil. 

*'  We  have  no  time  to  tinfle :  life  is  brief, 

And  sin  is  here; 
Our  age  is  but  the  falling  of  a  leaf, 

A  dropping  tear: 
We  have  no  time  to  sport  away  the  hours. 
All  must  be  earnest  in  a  world  like  ours."    • 

In  the  emigration  of  every  child  to  a  land  of  room  and 
plenty,  a  noble  work  is  done,  which  of  itself  repays  the 
brave  rescuer.  A  slender  sickly  sapling  is  transplanted  from 
a  foetid  city  atmospliere  to  the  breezy  prairie  where  it  will 
surely  thrive.  Lord  Shaftesbury,  whose  efforts  on  behalf 
of  poor  children  have  made  his  name  a  universal  synonym 
for  Christian  philanthropy,  relates  the  following  interesting 
fact :  — 

I  was  walking  through  Scotland  Yard  the  other  day,  and 
came  upon  two  poor  ragged  boys,  quite  clean,  but  very 
ragged.  To  my  surprise  they  accosted  me  with,  "  Good- 
morning,  my  Lord!"  "Tell  me  now,"  I  said,  "you  go  to 
a  ragged-school,  don't  you  ? "  "  Yes,  my  Lord."  Ah,  the 
only  place  to  make  a  perfect  gentleman !  The  only  hope 
you  have  of  taming  these  roughs  is  by  the  influence  of  the 
gospel.  I  am  certain  also  that  many  of  these  transplantations 
to  the  New  Country  are  most  valuable,  inasmuch  as  in  many 
cases   they  have   lost   all   possibility  of  gaining   an   honest 


346  STBEET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

livelihood  among  their  old  surroundings.  Some  years  ago 
I  received  a  "  round-robin,'"  signed  by  a  number  of  thieves 
and  burglars  of  the  worst  kind,  inviting  me  to  meet  them  at 
a  certain  place.  I  replied  I  would  do  so.  They  kept  their 
appointment  (there  were  about  four  hundred),  and  told  me 
they  wished  to  give  up  their  bad  lives,  but  did  not  know 
where  to  go.  And  now  mark  the  sequel.  We  succeeded 
in  gaining  the  hearts  of  these  men,  and  managed  to  send 
some  of  them  abroad ;  some  went  to  America.  One  of 
my  sons  was  traveling  in  the  Western  States;  reaching  a 
farmhouse  he  was  met  by  a  man  who  showed  him  much 
ready  hospitality.  After  a  little  my  son  prepared  to  depart. 
He  Avas  traveling  on  foot,  carrying  his  bag  with  the  name 
painted  on.  He  had  only  gone  a  few  paces  when  the  farmer 
came  running  after  him  :  '^  I  say,  sir,  is  your  Jiame  Ashley  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "■  Are  you  a  son  of  Lord  Ashley  ?  "  * 
"  Yes."  "  Here,  Luke,  Jim,  Harry,  Poll,  come  here  and  see 
the  man  whose  father  saved  me  from  ruin."  Such  was  the 
result,  in  at  least  one  case,  of  the  round-robin  from  the 
thieves  and  burglars. 

It  is  well,  still  further,  to  explain  the  modus  operandi  of 
the  transplantation  whicli  takes  place.  A  visitor,  in  his 
capacity  as   journalist,  details    Miss    Macpherson's    plan:  — 

A  short  visit  to  Miss  Macpherson's  Distributing-Home 
gave  us  an  insight  into  the  "  inner  Ufe  "  of  the  Home  and  the 
system  upon  which  the  work  of  managing  the  boys  is  carried 
out  here.  We  have  seen  by  the  [)amph]ets  and  circulars  so 
freely  sent  around,  that  in  Britain  there  are  refuges  and  train- 
ing-homes in  the  large  cities.  These  refuges  or  receiving- 
homes  have  been  established  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  the 
little  waifs  from  the  streets  of  the  great  cities.  Boys  who 
have  been  left  orphans  and  totally  unprovided  for;    those 

*Tlie  Karl  of  Sliatti'sl)iirv's  faniilv  iiaiiic. 


TRAXSPLAXTA  TIOXS.  347 

also  who  are  as  homeless  and  destitute  as  orphans  —  the 
children  of  drunken  parents ;  in  fact,  all  the  friendless  and 
indigent  little  ''  Arabs  "'  who  swarm  in  the  thoroughfares  of 
the  large  centres  of  population,  hundreds  of  whom,  like 
Topsy,  scarcely  know  whether  they  had  father  or  mother, 
and,  may  be,  like  her,  "  specs  they  growed,"  —  all  these  little 
waifs  are  made  welcome  in  the  houses  of  refuge.  There  is 
no  circumlocution  office  here,  no  soliciting  of  the  votes  of 
"  Charity "  office-bearers,  but  on  the  principle  that  "  while 
the  grass  is  growing  the  steed  is  starving,"  the  little  wanderers 
are  taken  in  and  cared  for.  There  the}^  undergo  medical 
inspection,  to  see  if  skin  diseases  or  any  physical  infirndty 
require  treatment ;  if  so,  they  are  attended  to  at  once. 
Thorough  cleanliness  is  the  rule  —  soap  and  water  are 
elements  of  faith  and  works  combined  in  this  noble  institu- 
tion—  and  good  food  and  comfortable  clothing  follow  as 
natural  consequences.  The  little  waifs,  ranging  from  three 
years  old  and  upward  to  tifteen  and  sixteen  are  next  sent  to 
the  Training-Home  at  Hampton,  where  instruction,  mental 
and  physical,  is  imparted.  The  rudiments  of  an  English  edu- 
cation are  there  taught  and  religious  instruction  attended  to, 
and  the  work  of  an  ordinary  farm-servant  forms  part  of  their 
daily  routine  of  duties.  They  are  thus  gradually  weaned 
from  the  habits  of  their  street  life  and  started  on  the  road 
which  leads  to  comfort  and  respectability.  After  due 
preparation  at  Hampton,  the  boys  are  shipped  off  by  detach- 
ments to  the  Distributing-Homes  in  Canada,  of  which  Blair- 
Athol  Farm  is  one,  and  here  on  Saturday  we  found  tliirty- 
five  boys,  of  ages  ranging  from  five  to  sixteen.  We  were 
kindly  invited  by  ^Ir.  Thoni  who  has  iox  some  time  assisted 
in  the  management  of  the  Home  in  Belleville,  to  walk  about 
the  premises  and  see  the  progress  of  the  alterations  which 
are  making.  The  dinner-bell  was  ringing  as  the  little 
band    soon    mustered    from   the    fields.     After    a  wash  they 


348  8TBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

filed  off  to  where  dinner  was  served  on  two  tables  in  the 
barn,  which  is  necessarily  used  at  present  until  the  dormi- 
tories are  erected.  Ranged  in  standing  order  at  the  back  of 
the  seat  they  first  sang  an  appropriate  grace  in  verse,  their 
hands  reverently  shading  their  eyes,  and  then  at  the  word 
of  command  each  took  his  place  in  front  of  a  plate  heaped 
with  meat  and  potatoes,  which  they  attacked  with  a  zest 
which  testified  to  the  appetizing  effects  of  their  outdoor 
labors.  From  the  "■  dinner-room  "  we  were  taken  to  another 
part  of  the  barn  where  the  sleeping-berths  have  been  placed 
in  an  airy  and  comfortable  place.  The  berths  are  ranged  in 
two  tiers  as  in  a  steamer,  and  the  bed-clothes  are  all  of 
excellent  materials.  We  could  not  help  contrasting  the 
comfortable,  homelike  aspect  of  everything  about  the  place, 
even  now  before  arrangements  have  been  brought  to 
anything  like  perfection,  with  the  condition  of  the  little 
castaways  on  the  streets  of  London  and  Glasgow,  whose 
beds  are  in  old  packing-cases,  under  the  arch  of  a  bridge,  on 
a  doorstep,  or  amid  the  squalor  and  disease  of  tenement- 
houses.  The  applications  to  adopt  the  boys  are  coming  in  in 
surprising  numbers.  Many  have  already  been  sent  from  the 
Gait  Home*  to  various  parts  of  the  country,  chiefly  to  be 
adopted  by  well-to-do  farmers,  in  whose  families  they  will 
be  trained  to  habits  of  industry  and  be  treated  to  all  the 
comforts  of  Canadian  farm  life. 

*The  Home  has  receutlv  lieeu  reiuove<l  to  Stratford,  Ontario. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

TRANSFORMATIONS. 

The  Canny  Scotch  Shepherd.  —  Human  Pearls. —  Future  Transfiguration.  —  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  H.  Grattan  Guinness. —  Cliarlie  Maquba  Sitwana.  —  Natural  Pantomime. — 
Clothes  "  Too  Heavj- !  too  Hot !  "  —  Thirst  for  Knowledge.  —  "  My  Nose  is  Very  111." 

—  "  Give  Wife  and  Money !  well !  well !  "  —  Hearing  of  the  White  Animals.  —  Going 
to  See  the  World.  —  Description  of  Kaflir  Life. —The  German  Missionary. —  Wor- 
shiping the  Serpent.  —  Kaffir  Code  of  Morality.  —  The  Deserters.  —  Great  London. 

—  King  Coflee.  —  A  Cruel  Deception.  —  Charlie's  Teetotalism.  —  Searcliing  for  I'tje- 
baz  T'jojo.  —  The  Urothers  Meet.  —  Charlie  a  •Real  Missionary.  —  Dublin  "  Arabs."  — 
The  Little  Irish  P>oy.  —The  Pass-ticket.  —  "  John  Three  Sixteen."  — His  New  Name. 

—  The  Boy's  Delirium.  —  The  "  Something  Else."  —  The  Nun's  Beads.  —  The  Young 
Missionary.  —  How  Poor  Children  Suffer. —  "  Billy 's  Deail." — Nell's  Idea  of 
Heaven.  —  The  Garret  Bleak  and  Bare.  —  Nell  Seeking  the  Rose.  —  "Just  a  Rose  t* 
take  to  Bill."  —  The  Fretful  Lady.  —  "  Billy 's  Dead,  so  is  Billy's  Sister  Nell." 

rpHERE  is  a  story  told  of  a  canny  Scotch  shepherd,  who 
was  frequently  noticed  wading  in  a  certain  river. 
When  questioned  about  his  novel  exercise,  he  promptly 
replied  that  cold  water  was  a  good  thing  to  strengthen  weak 
ankles.  He  could  not  however  hide  the  real  secret,  which, 
notwithstanding  his  caution,  crept  out.  The  close-minded 
Sandy  had  been  finding  pearls  in  the  river  mussels.  No 
wonder  he  was  often  seen  where  such  treasures  were  found. 
Could  we  trace  the  shepherd's  pearls  to  their  settings,  we 
might  discover  them  among  the  gems  of  royalty.  But  pearls 
are  pearls,  while  human  lives  are  treasures  of  another  sort. 
Down  deep  in  the  muddy  bed,  buried  beneath  misfortune, 
negligence,  and  poverty,  lies  many  a  human  being  waiting  for 
some  earnest  seeker  to  come  that  way.  He  who  gropes  with 
diligent  search  will  secure  many  of  these  —  the  perishing 
children  of  our  land.  These  human  pearls  are  lost  in  various 
ways.  There  are  orphans  bereft  of  both  parents ;  children 
driven  from  home  by  cruelty  or  neglect ;  destitute  children, 
whose  parents  may  be  sick  or  out  of  work  ;  and  those  who 


350  STREET  ABABS  AND  Ci  UTTER  SNIPES. 

have  wandered  from  their  homes  iu  self-will  —  })rodigals  not 
yet  come  to  themselves.  Scientists  tell  us  tlie  diamond  is 
crvstalized  carbon.  What  a  sublime  transformation!  But 
a  thousand-fold  more  glorious  is  the  change  which  takes 
place  when  a  poor  lost  one  is  found  by  the  Great  Shepherd  of 
the  sheep,  and  brought  from  darkness  into  light,  and  from 
the  power  of  Satan  unto  God.  Yet  this  is  only  the  first 
phase  of  that  transfiguration  which  is  completed  at  the 
resurrection.  For,  whatever  be  the  gain  to  tlie  believer  who 
departs  to  be  with  Christ,  we  know  the  fuller  glory  is 
reserved  until  the  hour  of  Christ's  return. 

My  purpose  in  this  chapter  is  to  call  attention  to  the 
fact  that  "Arabs"  universally  are  susceptible  to  the  trans- 
forming power  of  the  gospel.  Oh !  how  rich  the  rewards  in 
store  for  those  faithful  servants  whose  aim  in  the  temporal 
rescue  of  these  "Arabs"  is  but  a  step  towards  their  more 
important  deliverance,  namely,  freedom  from  the  curse  and 
power  of  sin. 

When  on  a  visit  to  London,  on  one  occasion,  I  was  the 
o-uest  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H.  Grattan  Guinness,  at  Harley 
House.  Mr.  Guinness,  whose  name  as  an  evangelist  is  still 
remembered  in  America,  is  also  widely  known  through  his 
writings.  He  is  the  Founder  and  Director  of  the  East  Lon- 
don Missionary  College.  Both  himself  and  his  gifted  wife 
have  devoted  their  later  years  to  the  work  of  educating  and 
training  young  men  for  missionary  labors  among  foreign 
nations.  Several  hundred  students  have  thus  passed  through 
their  Home,  not  a  few  of  whom  were  formerly  veritable 
"  Arabs.''  Their  missit)n  end)races  the  world,  and  their 
candidates  hail  from  many  lands.  Their  hospitable  Home 
being  also  a  refuge  for  the  oppressed,  the  writer  there  met 
Avith  men  from  Ethiopia,  Mesopotamia,  and  Kaffirland,  besides 
many  from  European  countries.  It  was  there  I  became 
acquainted  with  two  young  Kaffirs,  Charlie  Maquba  Sitwana 


TRANS  FOBMA  riONS. 


351 


and  his  brother  George.  These  were  forinerl}-  savage  young 
heathen,  who  had  left  their  native  home  on  the  tramp,  with 
hopes  and  ideas  no  more  absurd  than  those  which  incite 
other  boys  in  their  vagrant  life.  I  had  many  opportunities 
of  talking  with  Charlie,  who  was  fast  learning  the  language, 
habits,  and  manners  of  England.  Still  he  would  mix  things 
badly.  Between  his  efforts  to 
speak  our  native  tongue,  his  ex- 
citement in  relating  some  episode 
of  his  own  history,  and  his  cluck- 
ing noises  and  dramatic  action, 
he  often  failed  to  make  himself 
intellioible.  I  could  at  times  im- 
agine  myself  in  Kaffirland  listen- 
ing' to  the  natives  narrating  their 
deeds  of  war,  as  I  watched  his 
motion  and  action,  keeping  up  at 
the  same  time  a  peculiar  sound 
made  with  his  tongue,  and  inter- 
jecting his  broken  English.  I  fear 
I  often  started  Charlie  on  those 
exciting  topics  relating  to  his 
home  life  for  my  personal  enjoy- 
ment. To  see  him  speak  was  to 
witness  natural  pantomime ;  to 
hear    him,  I    considered    a    great 

treat.      But  Mrs.   Guinness'  charming  pen  will  give  us  the 
hope  and  history  of  this  Kaffir  "Arab"":  — 


It  was  astonishing  to  observe  how  the  enacting  of  these 
long  familiar  scenes  seemed  to  change  the  decorous  and 
almost  gentlemanly  young  man  ^ — for  Charlie  acquired  with 
singular  facility  the  ease  of  manners  and  the  politeness  of 
deportment  of  a  real  gentleman  —  back  again,  in  a  moment, 


352  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

into  the  wild  and  ferocious  young  savage.  The  almost 
supernatural  variety  of  unearthly  noises  he  was  capable  of 
producing,  in  moments  of  intense  excitement,  gave  the 
impression  that  a  score  of  savages,  instead  of  one,  were 
shouting  and  yelling  simultaneously  in  the  room,  while  the 
sudden  and  })eculiar  leaps  of  kangaroo-like  length,  which  he 
was  capable  of  unexpectedly  making,  strengthened  the 
impression,  for  he  seemed  to  be  in  two  or  three  places  at 
a  time.  Yet  he  never  failed  to  explain  that  he  really  could 
not  do  these  things  in  true  style,  on  account  of  his  clothes : 
"  Too  heavy  I  too  hot !  "  It  needed  a  man  to  be  nicely 
greased  up  to  the  shining  point,  and  clad  solely  in  red  tattoo, 
to  do  them  properly !  And  then  he  would  apologize  for  the 
poor  impression  conveyed  of  the  reality,  saying,  "  One  man 
nothing !  you  should  see  plenty,  plenty  Kaffir  men,  more  than 
a  thousand,  all  do  it,  exactly  same  time,  and  then  !  "  Imagi- 
nation was  left  to  call  up  the  scene,  but  most  of  his  auditors 
probably  felt  it  was  exciting  enough  to  see  a  solo  rehearsal, 
and  felt  little  desire  to  witness  the  re<al  jjerformance. 

Afterwards  turning  from  the  gay  to  the  grave,  Charlie 
would  wipe  his  brow%  and,  transformed  in  a  moment  from  the 
young  savage  describing  his  people  to  the  young  Christian 
pleading  for  them,  he  would,  in  earnest  and  tender  tones, 
urge  the  claims  which  their  utter  ignorance  gives  them  on 
the  sympathy  and  lielp  of  the  English.  "  They  don't  know ! 
They  know  nothing  !  They  don't  know  about  God,  about 
Jesus,  about  Bethlehem,  about  Calvary,  about  '  God  so  loved 
the  world,'  about  sin  ;  don't  know  what  is  sin,  think  sin  very 
good,  very  best ;  don't  know  about  love,  about  kindness,  only 
about  war  and  lighting ;  don't  know  how  to  do  anything,  or 
to  read  or  write ;  don't  know  at  all ;  like  animals  !  And 
you !  "  And  then  he  would  dilate  on  what  we  know,  in  a 
way  that  showed  that,  infinitesimally  small  as  was  his  concep- 
tion of  the  white  man's  real  attainments,  yet  that  knowledge 


TBANSFORMA  TI0N8.  353 

seemed  to  him  the  principal  thing,  precious  beyond  any  of 
the  precious  treasures  and  numerous  advantages  possessed  by 
Enghmd.  He  seemed  strongly  of  Solomon's  opinion : 
"  Happy  is  the  man  that  ii^ndeth  wisdom,  and  the  man  that 
getteth  understanding  " ;  for  his  thirst  for  knowledge  was 
remarkable. 

But  we  must  try  now  to  reproduce  an  outline  of  one  of  his 
addresses.  There  was  a  naivete  about  them  that  sometimes 
made  the  tem])tation  to  laugh  irresistible,  and  happily 
he  never  seemed  pained  at  being  laughed  at.  On  one 
occasion  in  Birmingham  he  was  suffering  from  a  cold,  and 
had  a  painful  little  swelling  on  one  side  of  his  nose.  After 
I  had  briefly  introduced  him  to  a  drawing-room  meeting, 
and  given  a  few  particulars  of  his  country  and  tribe,  he  rose 
and  began  by  saying,  "Dear  friends,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 
about  my  people  to-night,  but  7ny  nose  is  very  ill !  I  do  not 
know  if  I  can,  but  I  will  try,  if  my  nose  will  excuse  me  ! " 
But  in  general  he  conformed  remarkably  well  to  the  usage^ 
of  society,  and  seemed  quite  at  his  ease  in  any  company. 
On  taking  him  to  tea  one  evening  with  some  friends  who 
are  blessed  with  a  family  of  eleven  young  daughters,  Charlie 
gazed  on  the  group  of  girls  with  unfeigned  admiration,  and 
then  turning  to  their  father  said :  "  You  would  be  very  rich 
man,  O,  very,  very  rich  in  my  country."  "  How  so  ?  "  "  Such 
plenty  nice  daughters !  Each  one  bring  you  so  many  cows, 
Some  man  want  a  wife  ;  he  come  and  ask  for  one  of  your 
girls;  you  say,  'Yes!  for  ten  cows,  twenty  cows — very 
clever  girl,  jifty  cows'  That  man  give  you  so  many  cows 
you  want  for  your  daughter,  and  with  all  these  daughters, 
you  very,  very  rich  !  "  "  Oh,  but  in  our  country  we  have  to 
give  our  daughters,  and  give  money  too  if  we  can  !  "  With 
extreme  astonishment  Charlie  took  in  this  fact :  "  Give  wife 
and  money !  Well !  well !  you  are  very  very  kind !  too 
kind  !  much  too  kind !     In  Africa,  no  coiv,  no  wife  1 " 


354  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

.  In  public  address  lie  needed  a  little  prompting  now  and 
then,  to  recall  to  him  the  subjects  on  which  he  wished  to 
speak.  He  kept  mostly  to  the  autobiographical  style, 
somewhat  as  follows:  — 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  in  Africa  my  father  sent  me  to  keep 
sheep.  In  Africa  men  don't  work  at  all,  women  work,  but 
men  dress  their  hair  and  fight  and  talk ;  boys  keep  cattle, 
not  in  little  fields  like  yours,  with  gates  and  hedges  and 
walls  —  in  wide  big  open  places  where  lion  may  come,  or 
leopard  to  catch  them ;  the  boys  watch,  and  if  lion  comes, 
make  a  great  noise,  great  great  noise,  frighten  him  away. 
One  day  some  boys  tell  my  brother  and  me  they  been  to 
Durban  [Natal],  and  seen  many,  many  wonderful  things, 
big  houses  and  ships,  and  looking-glasses,  and  most 
wonderful  things,  and  white  animals  like  men  and  women, 
and  they  make  strange  noises  nobody  could  understand, 
like  this."  (Here  he  would  imitate  the  sounds  of  the 
English  language  as  it  struck  the  Kaffir  ear  on  first  hearing 
it;  making  everybody  laugh  at  the  rapid,  sharp,  fine  bird- 
like chattering  sounds,  which  certainly,  in  comparison  to  the 
long,  sonorous  Kaffir  tones,  seemed  more  like  animal  noises 
than  human  speech.) 

"  This  make  my  l)rother  Ujojo  and  me  think  we  must  go 
and  see  these  white  animals,  and  these  wonderful  things,  and 
we  ask  our  father  to  please  to  let  us  go  to  Durban  and  come 
back  again,  and  he  say,  '  Yes,  for  three  months.'  That's  three 
or  four  years  ago  now,  and  we  never  go  back  yet ;  but  we 
want  to  go  and  tell  our  father,  and  our  king,  and  all  our 
people,  about  all  things  we  have  learnt.  We  leave  our 
countr}^  and  walk  long  way  quite  naked,  but  when  AV^e  come 
near  Durban  some  Kaffir  man  tell  us :  '  Must  not  go  on  quite 
naked;  white  animal  don't  like  it  !    must  get  clothes.' 

"  O  dear,  (3  dear  I  what  must  we  do  ?  we  got  no  clothes, 
we  don't  know  about  clothes,  what  they  for,  where  they  can 


TEANSFOBMA  TIONS.  355 

be  got ;  so  we  stop  and  work,  for  get  some ;  men  give  us 
money,  some  big  brown,  some  little  white  in  his  hand  ;  we  like 
big  penny  best,  and  take  it  always,  till  some  Africa  man  say 
to  us  :  'No  !  little  white  shilling  the  biggest  money  ! '  Then 
we  get  some  clothes,  trousers,  and  boots,  and  put  them  on  to 
walk  on  to  Durban.  But  O  dear  I  O  dear !  what  must  we 
do  ?  so  tight  !  can't  walk !  so  very  tight  I  hurt  our  foot,  feel 
as  if  tied  up  ;  must  take  them  off ;  man  say  no,  must  keep 
them  on,  else  white  animal  put  in  prison.  We  not  know 
what  prison  mean,  but  very  much  afraid  if  white  animal  angry 
with  us  ;  so  keep  clothes  on,  and  soon  could  walk  and  work 
too  in  them. 

"  Then  we  come  to  Durban.  Very  much  surprise  !  look  at 
everybody  and  at  everything.  All  white  animals  got  clothes, 
much  clothes,  and  houses,  big  big  houses,  with  walls  u})right 
and  doors  so  very  high !  Kaffir  house  door  so  low  as  chair 
here  [then  going  down  on  all  fours  he  would  show  how  they 
creep  into  the  Kaffir  huts],  and  inside  all  dark,  no  window, 
no  fireplace,  fire  on  floor,  no  chimney,  house  full  of  smoke, 
make  eyes  water,  very  sore,  no  chair,  no  table,  just  sit  on 
floor  in  smoke  and  dark. 

"  Durban  houses  beautiful,  like  yours,  and  we  saw  books 
and  looking-glasses  ;  these  make  us  laugh  very  much  —  like 
water.  When  Kaffir  man  do  his  liair  very  well,  he  go  look  in 
water  and  see  how  grand  he  look  —  but  never  could  think 
how  to  make  looking-glass !  In  Durban  everybody  work, 
white  man  work,  and  white  woman  do  her  hair  and  talk ! 
We  tliink  that  bad  way,  not  to  make  woman  work  ;  but  now 
I  know  that  is  proper,  because  man  is  strong,  and  woman  is 
weaker  and  got  babies  to  mind.  But  Kaffir  woman  very 
strong,  must  put  baby  on  back  and  work  all  same,  make  crops 
grow,  and  grind  corn,  and  dig  and  build  house  ;  and  when 
she  get  weak  and  very  old  and  no  use,  Kaffir  man  say,  this 
one  no  use  now,  must  push  her  over,  and  then  they  take   her 


356  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

to  steep  place  on  top  of  hill  and  push  her  down,  because  no 
use,  can't  do  anything.  Now  I  know  that 's  very  cruel  and 
wicked,  and  I  want  to  go  back  and  tell  my  people  ;  and  they 
sha'n't  push  my  old  grandmother  over,  I  hope.  She  love  me 
and  my  brother,  and  we  want  to  go  soon,  to  save  her  from 
being  pushed  over,  and  tell  her  about  Jesus." 

After  working  in  a  stable  at  Natal  for  some  time,  the 
brothers  thought  they  knew  enough  about  horses,  and  wished 
to  go  to  sea,  for  they  had  become  imbued  with  a  desire  to  go 
to  the  white  man's  own  country,  to  England,  and  learn  many 
things.  They  had  originally  the  impression  that  the  white 
animals  came  out  of  the  sea,  but  by  degrees  they  understood 
that  they  came  over  the  sea  only,  and  that  the  land  from 
which  they  came  was  more  marvelous  even  than  Durban 
itself.  So  they  made  their  way  to  a  vessel,  and  were  guided 
b}^  a  kind  providence  to  one  commanded  by  a  good  captain, 
and  which  had  a  German  missionary  on  board.  This  faithful 
man  took  a  loving  interest  in  the  po(U-  heathen  lads,  and 
began  at  once  to  give  them  some  instruction.  He  furnished 
them  with  Kaffir  Testaments,  and  began  to  teach  them  to 
read. 

At  first  it  struck  them  as  an  absurd  and  stupid  process 
altogether  ;  but  when  they  got  a  notion  of  the  result  attain- 
able, their  ardor  knew  no  bounds.  To  learn  became  the 
dearest  wish  of  their  heart ;  and  they  were  soon  able  to 
make  out  their  Testaments.  From  the  first  their  hearts 
seem  to  have  been  attracted  by  the  idea  of  a  God  of  love., 
and  of  a  human-divine  Saviour.  "  O,  my  dear  friends," 
Charlie  Avould  say,  "you  know  about  God,  and  \  know  now! 
He  is  kind,  he  does  not  want  to  hurt  us  ;  he  is  very,  very 
good,  he  loves  us.  Africa  man  no  think  about  God  at  all ; 
he  pray  to  serpent,  but  sometime  when  it  thunder  very  loud, 
up  in  sky,  then  he  frightened,  and  he  say,  'Ah  I  now  God  \\\) 
there  I     God  I  he  very  wicked  man  !  he  want  to  kill  us  all.' 


i 


"COME    UNTO    ME. 


TPiANSFOBMA  TIONS.  359 

But  he  no  pray  to  him  even  then  ;  he  do  so  "  (imitating  the 
strange,  fierce,  defiant,  horrid  noises  and  gestures  directed  by 
these  poor  heathen  against  the  mighty  thunderer,  of  whom 
they  have  no  other  conception  than  of  a  malicious  enemy). 
"  Africa  man  not  like  God ;  he  pray  very  much  to  serpent  to 
help  him  stop  the  thunder,  or  make  him  well,  or  keep  his 
father  or  his  child  from  dying."  And  then  he  would  intone 
a  strange,  weird,  monotonous  chant,  whose  tones  were  full  of 
the  most  abject  supplication,  and  the  gestures  accompanying 
which  were  intensely  expressive  of  real  fear  and  liumble 
worship,  the  address  or  prayer  to  the  serpent  which  is  poor 
Africa's  only  God.  One  felt  inclined  to  weep  at  the  thought 
of  myriads  of  fine,  intelligent  men,  thus  deluded  by  the 
devil  into  defiance  and  distrust  of  the  great  and  good  God, 
and  into  real,  slavish  terror  and  veneration  of  a  vile  reptile  ! 
The  German  missionary's  instruction  roused  in  these  poor 
Kaffir  lads  a  thirst  after  the  knowledge  of  the  true  God, 
which  was  remarkable  from  its  strength  and  intensity. 
When  the  ship  reached  Aden,  they  resolved  to  go  ashore  to 
try  to  find  a  school,  though  they  had  promised  to  help  work 
the  vessel  to  London,  for  their  moral  sense  was  at  this  time 
b}^  no  means  sufficiently  developed  to  recognize  the  evil  of 
breaking  a  promise  or  telling  a  lie.  Indeed,  Charlie's  expla- 
nations of  the  Kaffir  code  of  morality  made  one  feel  how 
difficult  it  must  have  been  for  true  ideas  of  sin  and  righteous- 
ness to  penetrate  their  minds.  "•  Kaffir  man  think  it  quite 
right  to  kill  if  another  man  do  you  harm,  quite  right  to 
steal  if  you  want  something  another  man  got,  quite  right 
tell  lies  if  it  come  bad  to  tell  truth,  quite,  quite  right !  He 
never  shamed,  never  sorry,  never  feel  bad  for  all  such  things, 
if  nobody  know.  Only  if  found  out,  ah  I  then  he  done  very, 
very  wrong,  to  be  so  unclever  as  to  be  found  out ;  then 
he  sliamed  and  very  sorry  because  he  did  n't  kill  or  steal 
cleverly  and  well ;  but  if  nobody  find  out,  then  he  all  right  I  "' 


300  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Providentially,  the  liuls,  suspected  as  deserters,  were  taken 
up  in  Aden  and  [)ut  in  prison,  and  subsequently  returned  to 
their  ship.  The  captain,  of  whose  wrath  they  were  greatly 
afraid,  received  them,  to  their  surjjrise,  kindl}^  explained  to 
them  their  folly  in  hoping  to  find  a  school  in  Aden,  and 
their  duty  to  be  good  boys  and  keep  their  promises.  They 
loved  him  in  consequence  of  this  forbearance,  and  seem  to 
have  done  all  they  could  to  try  and  please  him.  On  reach- 
ing England,  however,  they  were  quite  resolved  not  to 
return  with  the  ship,  but  to  stay  and  find  a  school,  '•'  Must 
learn  something,  must  learn  about  Jesus  more ;  German 
missionary  gone,  we  know  nothing,  we  cannot  tell  our  people 
enough  about  God  ;  must  find  a  school.  We  told  captain ; 
hesav,  '  No  ;  you  be  lost  in  London,  better  come  back  ! '  We 
saj,  '  No,  God  take  care  of  us ;  we  must  go  to  school.'  He 
say,  '  School  not  for  you,  school  want  money,  better  come 
back.'  We  say,  'Must  work  for  money,  but  must  find 
school.'  So  at  last  captain  he  l)ring  us  on  shore,  find  lodging, 
and  tell  man  we  got  four  pounds  each  and  must  take  care  of 
it,  and  then  he  say  good-by. 

"Then  we  go  out  see  London  I  oh,  so  very,  very  big  — 
such  a  noise  !  so  many  men  and  horses  and  trams,  we  much 
frightened.  We  asked  many  people,  'Please,  sir,  show  us 
a  school,'  but  nobody  sIuav.  Some  people  laugh,  some  talk, 
and  we  can't  understand,  and  numy  days  Ave  asked  and  find 
nothing.  Then  man  at  lodging  say  one  day  he  found  work 
for  me,  and  I  must  give  him  my  money  to  take  care  of  it,  and 
he  show  me  work.  So  I  gave  him  all  my  money,  and  he 
took  me  awa}'  from  my  brother,  far  away  over  London 
Bridge,  and  l)riug  me  to  Sanger's  Circus.  After  I  left  my 
brother  George  one  or  two  streets,  I  very,  very  sorry ;  knew 
I  never  could  find  him  again  !  T  wanted  to  cry,  man  W(nild 
not  take  me  back.  Coiddn't  find  the  street  where  George 
was,  an V  more  than  mv  countrv  —  London  so  big,  such  lots  of 


TEANSFOBMATIONS.  oGl 

streets  and  people  !  Oh,  I  was  very  sad  in  my  heart,  very, 
very  sad.  Sanger's  people  made  me  '  King  Coffee,'  made  me 
ride  an  elephant  in  grand  red  gown  with  feathers  in  head, 
made  me  take  care  of  elephants.  In  Africa  we  see  plenty 
elej^hant,  ]nit  not  come  near  him  !  not  catch  him  !  oh !  no, 
no  !  Very  much  afraid  of  elephants.  But  now  every  day 
must  ride  him  and  show  people,  and  hear  music,  and  he  with 
wicked  men,  and  people  laugh  at  me.  My  heart  very  sad, 
very  sorr}^ !  No  George,  no  school,  no  book,  no  learn  about 
God !  I  could  only  pray ;  every  day  I  did  pray  to  God : 
O,  God  bring  me  back  to  George,  and  teach  us,  and  take 
us  back  to  our  father  and  our  people." 

It  was  indeed  a  cruel  deception  that  had  been  practised  on 
the  lad,  to  part  him  thus  from  the  brother  to  whom  he  clung 
with  intense  affection,  and  place  him  in  the  midst  of  the 
ungodly  scenes  of  a  traveling  circus.  But  he  was  helpless, 
and  for  more  than  a  year  he  wandered  over  England  with 
this  menagerie,  forming,  as  King  Coffee  mounted  on  his 
elephant,  one  of  the  most  attractive  features. 

But  the  cry  of  the  poor  Kaffir,  whose  whole  soul  was 
athirst  for  the  knowledge  t)f  God,  was  not  despised  or 
forgotten.  During  the  inteiwal,  George,  the  elder  of  the 
two,  had  by  a  series  of  providential  incidents,  which  we  have 
not  space  to  relate,  been  led  to  our  Mission  Institute  at 
Harley  House,  where  he  made  marked  and  rapid  progress  in 
the  knowledge  of  the  truth,  and  proved  himself  by  his 
conduct  a  most  humble,  earnest,  and  consistent  Christian. 
Charlie  was,  by  the  same  kind  Providence,  kept  in  the  most 
remarkable  way  from  the  cmitamination  and  injur}-  which 
might  have  been  expected  to  result  from  the  strangel}' 
exposed  life  he  was  leading  and  the  associations  into  which 
he  was  thrown.  One  element  of  safety  lay  in  the  fact  that 
he  never  was  persuaded  to  touch  alcohol^  of  which  indeed  he 
seemed  to  have  a  kind  of  natural  horror.     He  shrank  from 


362  STIiEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

tlie  company  of  liis  mutes,  never  shared  in  tlieir  revels,  and 
preferred  the  society  of  his  elejjhant.  The  men  do  not  seem 
to  have  been  kind  to  him,  and  lie  was  lonely  and  desolate. 
At  last  the  circns  returned  to  London,  and  Charlie's  reso- 
lution was  soon  taken.  He  would  leave  it,  and  trust  God  to 
guide  his  footsteps  through  tlie  perplexing  maze  of  London 
streets  to  his  brother  ;  and  if  he  could  not  find  him,  if  he 
was  gone  back  to  Africa,  he  would  try  to  follow.  So  he  took 
his  leave  of  lion  and  tiger  and  elephant,  and  laid  aside  with- 
out resfret  Kino;  Coffee's  robes  and  feathers,  and  set  out  on 
his  apparently  hopeless  search.  Pie  had  command  of  a  little 
more  English  now,  so  he  did  not  feel  quite  so  helpless.  By 
following  the  river  he  soon  found  liis  way  to  the  street  where 
he  had  left  his  brother,  which  he  was  overjoyed  to  recognize, 
but  he  could  hear  no  tidings  either  there  or  elsewhere  of 
George.  After  days  of  asking,  "Do  you  know  wliere  is  my 
brother  LTtjebaz  Ujojo  ?  "  and  getting  a  variety  of  negative 
replies,  he  began  to  despair.  Tired  and  sick  at  heart,  he 
turned  one  evening  into  a  sailors*  Bethel  chapel,  where  on  first 
landing  he  and  George  had  gone  and  listened  with  delight, 
though  they  understood  little  but  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ. 
The  missionary  conducting  the  service  recognized  him,  and 
when  after  the  service  Charlie  anxiously  addressed  to  him 
his  usual  question,  he  at  once  replied:  "Yes,  to  be  sure  I 
can.  George  has  gone  to  learn  to  be  a  missionary  to  his 
people ;  he  is  at  ILirley  House,  in  the  Bow  Road,  not  very 
far  from  here."  "  Then  I  was  A'ery,  very  glad.  I  feel  my 
heart  hot,  and  jump  up!  then  I  begin  to  cr}^  and  to  thank 
God.  Then  I  say,  my  brother  Ujojo  not  gone  back ;  he  gone 
to  school  at  last ;  I  shall  see  him.  I  was  too  happy,  too 
glad.  I  say  to  minister,  '  Please  take  me  to  ILirley  Hoilse,' 
but  he  write  name  down  on  piece  of  paper,  and  I  got  out  — 
I  find  a  boy  and  say,  '  Do  you  know  this  place  ? '  '  Yes,  I 
know,  it 's  a  big  house  ;  where  there  's  a  lot  of  young  men.' 


TBANSFOEMA  TIONS. 


363 


'Yes,  my  brother  Ujojo  is  tliere,  you  take  me  there  very 
quick.  I  want  to  run.'  At  hist  we  come  to  Harley  House 
—  I  asked  for  my  brother.  He  not  there,  lie  at  Burdett 
Road  "  (then  one  of  our  dormitories)  ;  ''  we  go  there  ;  as  we 
go  down  Burdett  Road,  I  see  George  coming.  I  call  Ujojo, 
and  I  run,  and  he  run,  and  we  kiss  and  laugii  and  cry,  and 
thank  God ! " 


We  well  remember  the  day  when  George — (]uiet,  gentle. 
Christian  George  —  came  with  a  countenance  full  of  emo- 
tion to  tell  us  he  had  found  his  brother.  Struck  with  the 
young  man's  earnest  Avish  to  learn,  we  received  Charlie  into 
the  institution,  not  as  a  student,  for  we  did  not  know  him 
then  to  be  even  converted,  but  as  a  servant.  He  was  with 
us  about  two  years,  and  won  all  hearts  both  in  London  and 
at  Cliff.  The  grace  of  God  was  very  apparent  in  him,  and 
his  one  burning  desire  was  to  become  a  missionary.  His 
great  delight  when  he  first  got  a  proper  long  black  coat  was 
amusing.  He  buttoned  it  and  stroked  it  and  said — his 
black  face  glowing  with   joy :    "  Now  I    real   missionary  ! '' 


364 


STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 


We  explained  that  the  distinctive  characteristic  of  being  a 
missionary  hiy  in  tlie  heart  rather  than  the  coat,  and  he  quite 
understood  that,  but  he  added :  ''  Love  of  God  inside,  and 
black  coat,  then  that  real  missionary  !  " 

Poor  Charlie  I  he  is  gone  back  to  his  people  now,  for  his 
lungs  began  to  suffer,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  Kaffirs 
after  a  year  or  two  of  our  climate,  and  we  thought  he  would 
improve  more  rapidly  in  a  mission-school  in  Natal,  where  he 
might  be  instructed  in  his  own  language.  One  kind  friend 
paid  his  passage,  and  others  have  undertaken  to  endeavor  to 
raise  the  money  needed  to  pay  for  completing  his  training 
for  a  year  or  two,  and  then  we  hope  he  will  go  out  as  a  native 
evangelist  to  preach  Christ  to  his  jjcople,  and  be  made  a 
blessing  to  very  many. 


Into  whatsoever  city  Jesus  Christ  has  come  and  called 
disciples  after  him,  there  we  find  philanthropy,  reform,  and 
missionary  enterprise.  It  argues  well  for  the  Christian 
religion  that  its  advocates  are  the  pioneers  of  every  good 
work.  The  gospel  which  brings  peace  to  the  sinner,  also 
imparts  a  life  which  has  world-wide  symj^athies.  The 
believer  is  saved  by  grace,  and  enters  immediately  into 
schemes  for  saving  others ;  for  grace  is  an  energizing  power, 
filling  the  consecrated  heart  and  then  flowing  out  in 
cfracious  acts  towards  the  s^raceless.  Christianitv  is  unsel- 
fish  ;  it  makes  a  man  think  of  those  who  are  lost,  and  reaches 
out  its  merciful  arms  to  save  such,  soul  and  body.  There- 
fore, where  the  Christian  is,  do  we  hear  of  Christian  endeavor. 
In  Dublin  there  has  existed  for  some  years  a  Refuge  for  the 
wandering  street  Arabs.  Many  have  been  gathered  in  from 
the  highways  and  hedges,  to  fill  the  vacant  seats  at  the  table. 

Friends  interested  in  these  poor  homeless  wanderers  go 
forth  at  night  into  the  lanes  and  streets  of  the  city,  with 
tickets  of  admission.     Each  ticket  bears  a  verse  of  Scripture, 


TRANSFOBMA  TIONS.  365 

and  the  same  verse  is  given  to  every  person,  and  serves  for 
a  password  for  that  night  only.  Every  day  the  text  is 
changed,  bnt  every  night  the  same  welcome  awaits  the 
wanderer ;  and  "  whosoever  will,"  can  find  rest  and  shelter 
from  the  cold,  hard  world  without,  and  drink  of  the  water 
that  springeth  up  into  everlasting  life. 

There  v/as  a  little  Irish  boy,  a  wanderer  in  the  streets  of 
Dublin  —  a  cit}^  "Arab,"  homeless,  houseless,  and  friendless. 
From  childhood  to  boyhood  he  had  been  sinking  into  lower 
depths  of  misery,  and  it  was  ending  in  liis  becoming  the 
associate  of  thieves.  Weariness  and  terror  often  made  him 
long  for  something  else ;  but  lie  was  alone,  hungry,  and 
forlorn,  and  so  he  was  becoming  the  slave  of  wicked  men. 

One  dark  cold  night  in  November,  he  was  awaiting  his 
accomplices ;  the  hour  had  not  yet  struck  when  the  evil 
deed  should  take  place  —  they  had  planned  to  commit  a 
burglary  in  a  house  where  the  boy  kept  watch.  The  moon 
gleamed  forth  at  intervals  from  the  heavy  clouds,  and  the 
robbers  must  wait  until  all  was  daik  before  they  could 
attain  their  wicked  purpose. 

Brighter  and  brighter  the  moon  shone  forth  —  so  lu'ight 
that  it  cast  a  dark  shadow  on  the  boy's  path  as  he  hid  him- 
self behind  the  portico  of  the  house.  Some  one  was  there ! 
Was  it  one  of  the  thieves,  to  see  if  he  were  there  ?  Was 
it  the  police,  aware  of  their  evil  intentions? 

No  !  A  voice  not  unkind,  but  with  command  in  its  tone, 
inquired :  — 

"  Boy !  what  are  you  doing  here  so  late  ?  Go  home,  and 
go  to  bed ;  lads  like  you  have  no  business  in  the  streets  at 
such  an  hour  as  this  I  Go  home  !  "  he  repeated,  as  the  boy 
did  not  move. 

"  I  have  no  home  to  go  to  —  no  bed,"  replied  the  young 
"Arab,"  and  his  voice  trembled. 


366  STBEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  said  the  stranger,  compassionately  ;  "  would 
you  go  to  a  home  and  a  bed  if  I  procured  you  one  ?  " 

"  That  I  would,  gladly,"  replied  the  boy,  as  the  cold  north- 
east wind  swept  over  his  shivering  frame,  and  carried  the 
clouds  away,  so  that  the  full  light  fell  on  the  face  of  a 
gentleman,  whose  kindly  smile  shone  l)righter  and  warmer 
than  moonlight  on  the  heart  of  the  wanderer.  He  gave  the 
name  of  the  street  and  the  number,  and  the  lad  was  hurrying 
off,  when  the  gentleman  recalled  him. 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  get  in,  my  boy?  You  must 
have  a  pass-ticket  as  well  as  an  invitation  before  you  can  be 
admitted.     Take  this ;  this  is  for  you.     Can  you  read  ?  " 

"■  No,"  replied  the  lad,  sadly.     "  I  never  learned." 

"Well,  remember  on  this  ticket  is,  'John  Three  Sixteen.' 
Repeat  it  after  me  :  '  John  —  Three  —  Sixteen.' " 

He  eagerly  repeated  it. 

"Now  do  not  forget  this  is  to  give  you  a  home  and  a  bed, 
and  is  to  do  you  good." 

Off  ran  the  lad  with  his  precious  ticket,  repeating  his 
lesson  Avithout  a  moment's  cessation,  until  he  arrived  breath- 
lessly at  the  street-door  of  the  house  indicated  to  him.  He 
rang  the  bell  fearlessly,  for  had  not  that  kind  friend  told  him 
that  "  John  Three  Sixteen "'  would  procure  him  a  home  and 
a  bed,  and  do  him  good?  The  night-porter  opened  the  door 
and  in  a  gruff  voice  inquired  :   "  Who  's  there  ?  " 

'•  It 's  me,  please,"  gasped  the  boy.  "  Please  sir,  I  'm 
'  John  Three  Sixteen.'  " 

"  All  right,"  responded  the  porter  ;  '"  that 's  the  pass  for 
to-night.     Come  in." 

The  poor  fellow  soon  found  himself  in  a  comfortable  bed, 
his  heart  running  over  with  gratitude  for  the  shelter  not  only 
from  tlie  cold  night  wind,  \nit  from  his  evil  companions,  and 
again  and  again  he  repeated :  "•  I  '11  always  be  John  Three 
Sixteen  — it  be  so  lucky." 


TBANSF0E3IA  TIONS.  367 

He  slept  soundly  until  morning,  when  he  I'eluctantly  left 
the  place  whicli  had  so  wonderfully  aftnrded  him  rest,  food, 
and  shelter,  solely  on  the  strength  of  his  new  name. 

He  was  again  on  the  streets.  Who  knows  ho^v  soon  his 
evil  associates  won  Id  have  enticed  him  to  be  again  a  partaker 
of  their  evil  deeds,  had  not  the  Hand,  '•'mighty  to  save," 
snatched  him  from  the  mouth  of  the  pit.  In  crossing  a 
crowded  thoroughfare,  he  was  run  over  by  a  cart,  and  carried 
to  the  nearest  hospital.  Before  taking  him  into  the  ward,  he 
was  asked :  — 

''  Are  you  a  Protestant,  or  Romanist?  "' 

He  did  not  understand  anything  -Ahowt  that ;  he  only  knew 
he  was  John  Three  Sixteen. 

"•  Well,"  said  the  warder, ''  he  's  very  l)adly  hurt ;  carry  him 
in  —  John  Three  Sixteen — or  whatever  his  name  is.  Poor 
lad  I  poor  lad  !  " 

Men  carried  him  into  the  accident-ward,  and  laid  him  down 
tenderly,  and  watched  him  till  the  surgeon  came,  and  often 
he  Avhispered  to  himself  as  he  laid  there :  "'  How  lucky  I  am 
since  I  had  my  new  name ;  1 11  always  stick  to  it,  that  I  am 
John  Three  Sixteen." 

But  soon  everything  was  forgotten  in  Ids  pain ;  fever  set 
in,  and  delirium  followed  ;  but  all  the  night  long  at  intervals 
he  repeated :  "  John  Tliree  Sixteen  !  John  Three  Sixteen ! 
It  ivas  to  do  me  good,  and  so  it  lias." 

Many  in  that  ward,  awakened  l)y  that  ceaseless  cry, 
stretched  forth  a  feeble  hand  to  turn  the  leaves  of  the  Testa- 
ment by  their  side,  to  learn  what  the  continued  repetition  of 
the  text  meant.  The  holy  Spirit  blessed  it  that  night  to 
several  souls,  for  it  was  God's  own  word,  and  he  has  promised 
that  his  word  shall  not  return  unto  him  void. 

Oh  !  how  good  it  is  tliat  (lod's  word  cannot  lie  ;  tliat  his 
promise  can  never  change,  and  liis  word  endureth  forever. 
Try  it.     Prove  him.     Believe  him. 

\ 


368 


STBEET  ABABS  AND  GIJTTEB  S'XIBES. 


Time  went  on.  Our  little  lad  awoke  to  new  life.  He  gazed 
about  him  as  he  seemed  to  awake  from  a  long  sleep.  Many 
eyes  were  fixed  on  him.  At  last  a  patient  from  one  of  the 
wards  near  him,  said:  "John  Three  Sixteen!  how  are  you?" 

"  How  did  you  know  my  name  ?  "  inquired  the  boy,  eagerly. 

"  Know  it,  my  lad  I  Why  you  have  never  ceased  telling 
us  of  it ;  and  I  for  one  say,  Blessed  John  Three  Sixteen." 

The  boy  marveled  how  any  one  could  call  him  blessed,  the 
poor  "  Arab  "  of  the  city,  for  whom  no  one  had  ever  cared, 

before  he  had  this  new 


name.  And  then,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  he 
heard  those  life-giving 
words  that  had  brought 
salvation  to  many,  and 
were  now  ordamed  to 
bring  life  to  him  :  "•  For 
God  so  loved  the  world, 
that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  Son,  that  who- 
soever believeth  on  him 
should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life." 
Yes  !  he  —  the  poor 
orphan  boy,  who  had 
early  learned  the  bitter 
wages  of  sin  (for  the  tender  mercies  of  the  wicked  are  cruel), 
he,  the  companion  of  thieves,  was  saved  —  not  condemned. 
"  For  God  sent  not  his  Son  into  the  world  to  condemn  the 
world;  but  that  the  world  through  Him  might  be  saved" 
(verse  17).  Yes!  God  so  loved  the  poor  city  "Arab,"  that 
he  had  given  his  own  beloved  Son  to  die  for  him,  that  he 
might  be  saved.  He  had  gone  before  him  to  prepare  a 
home  for  him,  for  "  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth 
from  all  sin." 


TEA  NSFOBMA  TIONS.  369 

"God  SO  loved  the  world,'' repeated  the  happy  boy:  "oh, 
but  it  is  beautiful !  Not  only  a  home  for  a  night,  or  such 
kind  folk  when  one  is  sick,  but  a  home  ahvays.  I'll  learn 
every  word  of  it.  John  Three  Sixteen  !  "  And  so  he  did, 
and  fed  upon  the  precious  words  that  were  set  before  him, 
often  saying, — 

"I  have  not  only  got  a  new  name,  but  the  'something  else' 
that  was  to  do  me  good." 

His  recovery  was  very  slow ;  for  the  Lord  had  not  done 
without  cause  all  that  he  had  done  ;  and  many  occasions 
presented  themselves  when  the  words  he  fed  on  were  to  feed 
others  through  his  instrumentality. 

An  elderly  man  was  brought  into  the  same  ward  in  a 
dying  state,  and  many  people  came  in  and  went  out,  and 
only  his  groans  were  heard. 

At  last  a  nun  adressed  the  new  patient : 

"  Well,  Patrick  !  how  is  it  with  you?" 

"  Oh,  badly,  badly,  —  I'm  dying!  and  what  will  become 
of  me,  big  sinner  that  I  am  ? " 

"  But  has  n't  the  priest  been  to  see  you  ?  "  in(]^uired  the 
lady.     "What  more  do  you  want?" 

"Aye,  true,"  replied  the  dying  man,  "but  it  has  only 
made  me  worse.  He  has  anointed  me  with  the  holy  oiL 
I  'm   a  big  sinner  still,  and   marked   now  for  death." 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  nun,  "  I  '11  put  these  beads  round 
your  neck:  they  were  blessed  by  the  Pope,  and  they  will 
help  you  to  die  comfortably." 

So  the  beads  were  hung  round  the  neck  of  the  poor  man, 
but  he  groaned  on,  and  continued  to  cry:  — - 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  a  big  sinner,  and  surely 
going  to  hell." 

Who  ever  heard  of  a  string  of  beads  comforting  a  soul 
bound  down  with  sin,  and  soon  to  face  a  just  God  and  a 
Saviour !     A  poor  shivering  soul  on  the  brink  of  eternity  I 


3^0  STREET  An  ADS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

"•I'll  just  tiy  my  password,"  said  our  poor  "Arab."'  "I 
found  it  lucky  for  a  bed,  and  now  I  have  found  it  good  for 
a  home  for  everlasting.  Poor  fellow  !  perhaps  he  11  find  it 
lucky  too." 

Then  in  solemn  tone  antl  slow,  with  emphasis  on  every 
word,  the  boy  repeated  :  — 

"God  so  loved  the  M'orld,  that  he  gave  his  only  begotten 
Son,  that  ivhosoever  believeth  on  him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life." 

There  was  deep  silence  in  the  ward  wliile  this  young  mis- 
sionary gave  forth  the  message  of  salvation.  Hope  dawned 
on  the  face  of  the  death-stricken  man,  who  implored  for  it 
to  be  repeated  again  and  again. 

The  holy  Spirit  gave  peace  to  the  despairing  soul,  and  the 
"  big  sinner,"  saved  by  grace  at  the  eleventh  hour,  recognized 
a  merciful  High  Priest  in  Jesus,  ever  living  to  make  interces- 
sion for  him,  and  he  passed  into  the  shadow  of  death,  trust- 
ing in  the  merits  of  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh  aAvay  the 
sin  of  the  world. 

The  young  missionary  came  more  and  more  under  the 
influence  of  the  living  Word.  He  did  not  die,  but  lived  to 
declare  the  glory  of  God,  who  "so  loved  the  world,  that  he 
gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on  him 
should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

Many  in  after  years  knew  our  young  missionary  as 
"Blessed  John  Three  Sixteen."  Tt  was  liis  text,  his  motto, 
liis  song  of  praise,  all  the  days  of  his  life.  He  gave  it  forth 
in  the  lanes  and  the  streets  of  the  cit}-,  by  the  wayside,  or 
wherever  an  ear  could  listen.  The  power  of  the  holy  Spirit 
rested  on  his  message  of  mercy  strong  to  deliver  from  the 
power  of  evil ;  and  in  simple  faith  he  held  forth  the  Word 
that  cannot  fail,  the  promise  that  abideth  forever,  and  God 
honored  it  and  made  it  fruitful,  and  it  taught  inany  the 
power  of  the  Word  of   God  as  the  password  for  eternity. 


TBANSFOBmiTIONS.  371 

The  sufferings  of  the  children  of  the  poor  are  touchingl}' 
set  forth  in  the  following  pathetic  poem.  It  is  a  sad  fact  that 
in  numberless  instances  children  are  born,  live,  and  die  in 
wretched  alleys  or  courts,  which  they  rarely  or  never  leave 
until  their  spirits  enter  the  "great  big  playgrounds  up 
above,"  and  their  wasted  bodies  are  hurriedly  hid  away  in 
the  paujier's  grave. 

THE   KOSE   THAT   BOUND   THEM. 

Billy  *s  dead,  and  gone  to  glory  —  so  is  Billy's  sister  Nell; 
There  "s  a  tale  I  know  about  them  were  I  poet  I  would  tell ; 
Soft  it  comes,  with  perfume  laden,  like  a  breath  of  country  air 
Wafted  down  the  filth}^  alley,  bringing  fragrant  odors  there. 

In  that  vile  and  filthy  alley,  long  ago,  one  winter's  day. 
Dying  quick,  of  want  and  fever,  hapless,  patient  Billy  lay; 
While  beside  him  sat  his  sister,  in  the  garret's  dismal  gloom. 
Cheering  with  her  gentle  presence  Billy's  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

Many  a  tale  of  elf  and  fairy  did  she  tell  the  dying  child. 
Till  his  eyes  lost  half  their  anguish,  and  her  worn,  wan  features  smiled; 
Tales  herself  had  heard  haphazard,  caught  amid  the  Babel  roar, 
Lisped  about  by  tiny  gossips  playing  at  their  mothers'  door. 

Then  she  felt  his  wasted  fingers  tighten  feeblj^  as  she  told 
How  beyond  this  dismal  alley  lay  a  land  of  shining  gold, 
Where)  when  all  the  pain  was  over  —  where,  when  all  the  tears  were 

shed  — 
He  would  be  a  white-frocked  angel,  with  a  gold  thing  on  his  liead. 

Then  she  told  some  garbled  story  of  a  kind-eyed  Saviour's  love, 
How  He  'd  built  f(jr  little  cliildren  great  big  playgrounds  up  above. 
Where  they  sang  and  played  at  hopscotch  and  at  horses  all  the  day, 
And  where  beadles  and  policemen  never  frightened  them  away. 

This  was  Nell's  idea  of  heaven — just  a  bit  of  what  she'd  heard. 

With  a  little  bit  invented  and  a  little  bit  inferred ; 

But  her  brother  lay  and  listened,  and  he  seemed  to  understand. 

For  he  closed  his  eves  ai\d  murmured  he  could  see  the  Promised  I^and. 


372  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered,  "  I  can  see  it  —  I  can  see  it,  Sister  Nell ; 
Oh.  the  children  look  so  happy,  and  they  're  all  so  strong  and  well ; 
I  can  see  them  there  with  Jesus  —  Ho  is  playing  with  them,  tool 
Let  us  run  away  and  join  them,  if  there  's  room  for  me  and  you." 

She  was  eight,  this  little  maiden,  and  her  life  had  all  been  spent 
In  the  garret  and  the  alley,  where  thej'  starved  to  paj^  the  rent ; 
Where  a  drunken  father's  curses,  and  a  drunken  mother's  blows. 
Drove  her  forth  into  the  gutter  from  the  day's  dawn  to  its  close. 

But  she  knew  enough,  this  outcast,  just  to  tell  the  sinking  boy : 
"  You  must  die  before  you  "re  able  all  those  blessings  to  enjoy. 
You  must  die,"  she  whispered,  "  Billy,  and  /am  not  even  ill ! 
But  I  "11  come  to  you,  dear  brother  —  yes,  1  promise  tliat  I  will. 

"  You  are  dying,  little  brother —  you  are  dying,  oh,  so  fast! 
I  heard  father  say  to  mother  that  he  knew  you  could  n't  last. 
They  will  put  you  in  a  coffin,  then  you  '11  wake  and  be  up  there, 
AVhile  I  'm  left  alone  to  suffer,  in  this  garret  bleak  and  bare." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  answered  Billy.     '•  Ah,  but  sister,  I  don't  mind. 
Gentle  Jesus  will  not  beat  me ;  He's  not  cruel  or  unkind. 
But  I  can't  help  thinking,  Nellie,  I  should  like  to  take  away 
Something,  sister,  that  you  gave  me,  I  might  look  at  every  day. 

''  In  the  sununer  you  remember  how  the  Mission  took  us  out 

To  a  great  green  lovely  meadow,  where  we  played  and  ran  about. 

And  the  van  that  took  us  halted  by  a  sweet  white  patch  of  land. 

Where  the  line  white  blossoms  grew,  dear,  half  as  big  as  mother's  hand. 

"Nell.  I  asked  the  good,  kind  teacher,  what  they  called  such  llowers  as 

those, 
And  he  told  me,  I  remember,  that  the  pretty  name  was  rose. 
I  have  never  seen  them  since,  dear  —  how  I  wish  that  1  had  one! 
Just  to  keep  and  think  of  j'ou,  Nell,  when  I  'm  up  beyond  the  sun." 

Not  a  word  said  little  Nelly;  but  at  night,  when  Bill}-  slept. 
On  she  flung  her  scanty  garments,  and  then  down  the  stairs  she  crept; 
Through  the  silent  streets  of  London  she  ran  nimbly  as  a  fawn'. 
Running  on  and  running  ever  till  the  night  had  changed  to  dawn. 

AVhcn  the  foggy  sun  had  risen,  and  the  mist  had  cleared  away, 
All  around  her,  wrapped  in  snowdrift,  there  the  open  country  la}'! 
She  was  tired,  her  limbs  were  frozen,  and  the  roads  had  cut  her  feet, 
But  there  came  no  flowery  gardens,  her  keen  hungr^^  eyes  to  greet. 


TRANSFOBMATIONS.  373 

She  traced  the  rocad  by  asking  —  she  had  learnt  the  way  to  go ; 

She  had  found  the  famous  meadow ;  it  was  wrapped  in  cruel  snow ; 

Not  a  buttercup  or  dais}"^,  not  a  single  verdant  blade, 

Showed  its  head  above  its  prison.     Then  she  knelt  her  down  and  prayed. 

With  her  eyes  upcast  to  Heaven,  down  she  sank  upon  the  ground, 
And  she  prayed  to  God  to  tell  her  where  the  roses  might  be  found. 
Then  the  cold  blast  numbed  her  senses,  and  her  sight  grew  strangely 

dim. 
And  a  sudden  awful  tremor  seemed  to  rack  her  every  limb. 

"■'  Oh,  a  rose !  "  she  moaned,  ''  good  Jesus  — just  a  rose  to  take  to  Bill !  " 
And  as  she  prayed  a  chariot  came  thundering  down  the  hill. 
And  a  lady  sat  there,  toying  with  a  led  rose,  rare  and  sweet; 
As  she  paused  she  flung  it  from  her,  and  it  fell  at  Nellie's  feet. 

Just  a  word  her  lord  had  spoken  caused  her  ladyship  to  fret. 
And  the  rose  had  been  his  present,  so  she  flung  it  in  a  pet ; 
But  the  poor  half-blinded  Nellie  thought  it  fallen  from  the  skies. 
And  slie  murmured,  ''Thank  you.  Saviour!"  as  she  clasped  the  dainty 
prize. 


Lo !  that  night  from  out  the  alley  did  a  child's  soul  pass  away : 
From  dirt  and  sin  and  misery  to  where  God's  children  play. 
Lo !  that  night  a  wild  fierce  snowstorm  burst  in  fury  o'er  the  land, 
And  at  morn  they  found  Nell  frozen,  with  the  red  rose  in  her  hand. 

Billy  's  dead  and  gone  to  glory  — ■  so  is  Billy's  sister  Nell ; 

Am  I  bold  to  say  this  happened  in  the  land  where  angels  dwell?  — 

That  the  children  met  in  heaven,  after  all  their  earthly  woes. 

And  that  Nellie  kissed  her  brother,  and  said,  '"Billy,  here  's  your  rose'"? 


CHAPTER   XV. 

INDIVIDUAL    EFFORT. 

The  Horse-leech.  —  Over  Sixty  Thousand  Victims  of  Intemperance.  —  Laodicean 
Indifference.  —  A  Roll  of  Distinguished  Names.  —  Personal  Effort.  —  Where  are 
the  Boasted  Champions  of  Infidelity?  —  Christian  Slavery  (?)  —  "  Survival  of  the 
Fittest."  —  Resolution  of  a  Barefoot  Boy.  —  Single-hearted  Devotedness.  —  The 
Orphan  Homes  of  Scotland^  —  Rescue  of  Two  Thousand  Children.  —  Opposed  to 
Endowments.  —  Children  at  Play.  —  The  Home  Idea  Fidly  Carrieil  Out.  —  A  Ship 
upon  the  Meadow.  —  Canadian  Farmers  and  Scotch  Children.  —  Getting  Equipped 
for  the  .Journey.  —  Personal  Attention  RequiFcd.  —  Only  One  Hour  for  Personal 
Business.  —  Tliree  Hundred  Thousand  Dollars  in  Answer  to  Prayer.  —  The  City 
Home  and  Bridge-of-Weir.  —  A  Physician's  Letter.  —  "What  Hath  God  Wrought  ?  " 
Ninety-five  per  cent.  Doing  Well. 

npHIS  is  an  age  of  activity  in  every  department.  The 
forces  of  good  and  evil  have  l)ecoine  intense.  The 
agencies  for  the  demoralization  of  the  young  are  fearfully 
on  the  increase ;  their  name  is  legion.  Like  the  horse-leech, 
they  cry  give,  give,  give  !  and  into  their  maw  are  flung  the 
helpless  victims,  too  weak  themselves  to  cope  with  the 
powers  of  darkness.  In  one  of  our  Western  cities  there  are 
over  four  thousand  saloons,  more  than  one  thousand  houses 
of  evil  repute,  besides  hundreds  of  gamlDling-dens  and  other 
vile  places  of  resort.  Their  patrons  are  chiefly  young  men, 
fifty  thousavid  of  whom  flock  to  these  dark  dens  every  night. 
Not  less  than  twenty  thousand  poor  girls  are  morally  and 
physically  degraded  in  the  same  city.  Within  the  houndaiy 
of  this  one  town  seventy  thousand  young  people  lost!  lost! 
lost !  In  addition,  twenty  thousand  children  shiver  in  rags 
in  the  wretched  homes  of  their  drunken  fathers,  or  seek  the 
streets  to  escape  the  cruel  treatment  inflicted  upon  them. 
What  untold  suffering,  what  appalling  misery,  do  these  facts 
represent  !  In  these  United  States  over  sixty  thousand 
victims  of  intemperance  are  annually  hurried  to  their 
untimely   graves !      How   many    "  Arabs ''    come    from    this 


INDIVIDUAL  EFFOnr.  375 

national  sin  none  can  compute.  Thus  the  Devil  energizes 
his  agents,  instigating  them  to  fulhl  their  cruel  mission, 
allowing  them  no  rest  from  their  hellish  deeds,  for  Beelzebub 
sleepeth  never.  The  Bible  is  true  ;  its  predictions  come  to 
pass  before  our  eyes.  Evil  men  and  se'/  icers  wax  worse 
and  worse  as  the  end  approaches.  The  love  of  many  waxes 
cold.  Laodicean  indifference  characterizes  the  professing 
church,  and  false  teachers  cry,  "-Peace,  peace,"  when  there 
is  no  peace.  The  blood  of  the  innocents  cries  out  for  ven- 
geance, and  the  hour  draweth  near  when  "■  the  kings  of  the 
earth,  and  the  great  men,  and  the  rich  men,  and  the  mighty 
men,  and  every  bondman,  and  every  freeman,"  shall  seek  to 
hide  themselves  from  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb.  "■  For  the 
great  day  of  his  wrath  is  come  :  and  who  shall  be  able  to 
stand?  "  Now,  it  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  the  men  and 
women  devoted  to  the  work  of  saving  the  lost,  and  in  shelter- 
ing the  young,  are  generally  found  among  those  who  believe 
that  the  second  coming  of  the  Lord  is  nigh.  Inspired  with 
the  hope  of  Christ's  imminent  return,  they  have  become 
intense  in  their  Christian  philanthropy.  The  following 
names  are  among  the  friends  of  childhood:  George  Mliller, 
who  maintains  two  thousand  orphans;  C.  H.  Spurgeon, 
caring  for  five  hundred  ;  Dr.  T.  J.  Barnardo,  sheltering  over 
o?ie  thousand  ;  William  Quarrier,  stretching  liis  fatlierly  arms 
around  many  hundreds ;  D.  L.  Moody,  who,  in  the  midst 
of  his  herculean  labors  as  an  Evangelist  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  has  never  forgotten  the  little  ones ;  E,  P.  Hammond, 
whose  voice  has  reached  thousands  of  children,  bringing  to 
them  "  the  old,  old  story  "  ;  Miss  Macpherson,  the  practical 
advocate  of  emigration  ;  Mrs.  Birt,  whose  children  are  found 
throughout  Nova  Scotia,  New  Brunswick,  and  the  Province 
of  Quebec  ;  Miss  Kye,  one  of  the  pioneer  workers  in  this 
good  cause ;  Miss  Bilbrough,  by  Avhose  able  management 
the  Province  of  Ontario  is  replete  with  happy,  healthy  juve- 


37G 


STBEET  ARABS  AXD  G  UTTEIt  SXIPES. 


niles,  —  these,  all  known  to  the  writer,  are  among  the  many 
who,  in  seeking  to  save  the  children  from  the  Devil's  Tviles, 
illustrate  in  thousands  the  power  of  jycrsonal  effort.  Asylums, 
reformatories,  and  State  institutions  cannot  compass  all  that 


is  needed  to  be  done  in  alleviating  the  sufferings  of  destitute 
children,  or  in  elevating  them  to  a  better  life.  Without 
State  aid,  disconnected  from  national  organizations,  unsup- 
ported by  government,  these  unsalaried  men  and  women  are 
doinir  this  fjreat  work  of  their  own  free  choice  —  volunteer 
agents  impelled  by  the  spirit  of  Christ.  And  it  is  worthy 
of  record,  that  not  alone    are    they  enrolled  as  Christians, 


IXDIVIDUAL  EFFOBT.  377 

their  .life  and  labors  show  that  they  are  devoted  Bible 
Christians.  Not  the  modern  molluscuons  sentimentalists, 
half  infidel  and  half  believer,  who  incline  to 

"  Sit  and  sing  their  souls  away  to  everlasting  bliss." 

Their  philanthropic  consecration  is  the  ontcome  of  their  per- 
sonal faith.  Take  from  these  heroic  souls,  of  whom  I  write, 
the  Word  of  God,  and  you  rob  them  of  the  motive,  the 
guidance,  and  the  power  for  their  work.  Deprive  them  of 
their  faith  and  hope ;  degrade  them  to  the  level  of  an 
unbeliever,  and  the  orphans'  tears  will  continue  to  fall ; 
helpless,  hopeless,  suffering,  hungry,  naked  children  will 
remain  forsaken  and  neglected. 

For  fifty  years  good  George  Miiller  has  supported  and 
directed  an  Orphanage,  giving  shelter  to  two  thousand 
orphans.  His  capital  has  been  faith  in  God ;  his  invest- 
ments the  promises  of  God ;  and  in  answer  to  believing 
prayer  day  by  day  the  means  have  been  supplied. 

Where  are  the  boasted  champions  of  infidelity  ?  Where 
the  free-thinkers  and  free-lovers  ?  They  hold  their  annual 
conventions,  where  they  deny  the  Christian  religion  and 
advocate  freedom  from  its  morality.  They  boast  of  their 
philosojyhi/,  but  where  is  their  pJulanthrojyy?  They  gabble 
about  "the  survival  of  the  fittest,"'  and  according  to  •  that 
inhuman  theory  the  weak  must  go  to  the  wall.  What  is  the 
logical  result  of  their  luiholy  creeds  ?  Down  with  your 
invalids,  crush  out  your  cripples,  strangle  your  foundlings, 
and  starve  to  death  the  feeble  and  the  sick  and  the 
dependent  I  Let  the  "  fittest  "  survive,  for  the  race  is  to  the 
swift,  and  the  battle  to  the  strong.  O,  you  George  Miillers, 
and  Charles  Spurgeons,  and  Dwight  Moodys,  and  Braces,  and 
Toleses,  who  have  spent  your  years  for  the  uplifting  of  the 
fallen  and  the  restoration  of  the  erring,  impelled  with  Bible 
faith  and  Bible  precept,  have  you  not  learned  yet  that  you 


378  STEEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

spend  _your  strength  for  nought  ?  The  humanity  you  have 
practised  in  your  obedience  to  Scripture  commands  cannot 
be  good,  for  the  Book  which  enjoins  it,  and  the  Christ 
who  exemplified  it,  are  both  false  and  fanatical.  Beastly 
Bradlaughism,  impious  Ingersollism,  frothy  Freethoughtism, 
and  cultured  (?)  Concord  philosophy  unite  in  their  cry 
against  the  divine  Christ :  "  Away  with  him  I  away  with 
him  ! "  And  his  disciples  are  treated  as  the  Master.  He  who 
went  about  everywhere  doing  good,  who  fed  the  hungry, 
healed  the  sick,  and  comforted  the  widow,  is,  according  to 
their  dictum,  unworthy  of  your  worship  and  your  allegiance. 
For  he  who  alleviated  human  sorrow,  and  died  for  human 
guilt,  was  a  cheat.  In  doing  his  will  and  in  following  his 
footsteps,  you  publish  your  own  slaver3^  Arise  then  from 
your  Christian  drudgery,  from  your  humanizing  efforts,  from 
your  Bible  benevolence,  and  preach  the  non-Christian 
doctrines  of  unbridled  lust,  until  you  help  to  bring  about  the 
millenium  of  radical  communism,  when  the  red  hand  of 
murder  nerved  by  hellish  greed  shall  determine  "the  survival 
of  the  fittest "  !  Then  shall  you  win  back  your  lost  manhood., 
when  purged  from  the  influence  of  your  mothers'  prayers, 
freed  from  the  bigotry  of  your  fathers'  faith,  and  loosened  from 
every  holy  tie  ;  no  longer  in  bondage  to  virtue,  to  morality, 
to  self-denying  charity  ;  practising  the  slavery  of  self-restraint 
no  more,  but,  laying  the  reins  loosely  on  the  neck  of  self- 
love,  spur  on  your  steed  unchecked  along  the  highway  of 
natural  impulse  and  blind  desire,  until  your  brilliant,  ungodly 
course  is  ended  in  the  joyous  hope  of  non-existence !  But  so 
deeply  rooted  is  your  ]»rejudice,  O  Christian  believer !  that  I 
know  such  advice  coming  even  from  the  developed  brain  of 
modern  thinkers  (?)  will  be  treated  by  you  with  undisguised 
contempt ! 

What  a  man  will  attempt  for  his  fellow-creatures,  under  the 
teaching  and  inspiration  of  personal  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus 


INDIVIDUAL  EFFORT.  379 

Christ,  is  seen  in  the  h:)fty  aim  and  successful  work  of  Mr. 
William  Quarrier.  The  graphic  story  of  his  remarkable 
career  is  thus  sketched,  by  James  Hendry,  in  Ciood 
Words : — 

William  Quarrier  has  put  it  beyond  the  power  of  any  one 
to  say  that  he  cannot  hnd  a  home  for  any  poor  outcast  child. 
He  is  ready  to  receive  the  little  ones  by  night  or  by  day ;  to 
feed  and  clothe  them,  to  teach  and  train  them ;  and  further, 
to  find  them  a  home  and  an  honest  career  in  one  country  or 
another.  He  has  made  this  his  life-work.  And  this  is  how 
the  thing  was  begun :  One  day,  when  he  was  but  eight  years 
of  age,  William  Quarrier  stood  in  the  High  Street  of  Glas- 
gow, barefooted,  bareheaded,  cold,  and  very  hungry.  The 
passers-by  looked  at  him,  l)ut  there  was  no  pity  or  befriend- 
ing in  any  face.  "  Is  there  no  help  for  a  poor  lad  among  all 
these  busy,  smiling,  comfortable  people  ? "  This  was  the 
question  the  starving  boy  had  to  ask  himself.  He  had  not 
tasted  food  for  a  day  and  a  half ;  and  the  bitterness  of 
poverty  was  upon  him.  Yet  there  in  the  open,  compassion- 
less  street  he  made  resolve  that,  if  God  would  prosper  him, 
he  would  not  so  pass  by  the  children.  This  early  purpose 
he  never  forgot.  Working  at  his  trade  as  a  shoemaker,  he 
still  remembered  it ;  for  many  years  he  labored  and  saved, 
that  this  his  life-desire  might  be  fulfilled.  Grown  to  man- 
hood he  began  to  seek  out  and  befriend  the  poor,  homeless 
waifs  who  flit  about  in  the  darkness  and  busy  desolations  of 
a  city  like  Glasgow.  To  this  he  gave  nearly  all  his  time  and 
energy.  Had  he  put  his  rare  aptness  for  affairs  and  skill  of 
organization  into  his  own  business,  he  would  probably  have 
been  one  of  our  most  successful  merchants.  As  it  is,  he  puts 
his  own  success  in  the  background  and  devotes  himself  cease- 
lessly to  the  cause  of  the  poor,  neglected  children. 

His  first  endeavor,  made  years  ago,  was  to  give  them  night 


380  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

shelter  and  a  kindly  word.  He  rented  a  house  in  a  poor 
district,  that  could  boast  of  no  more  than  four  bare  walls  and 
a  roof.  Thus  the  beginning  Avas  very  small.  His  first  great 
difficulty  was  to  find  work  for  the  boys,  so  few  people  were 
inclined  to  trust  or  take  them  in.  Pushed  on  by  his  desire 
to  teach  them  self-help,  he  organized  a  shoeblack  brigade. 
He  determined  to  make  it  self-supporting,  and  he  succeeded. 
Tlius  begun,  the  work  slowly  grew  to  his  hand,  so  that  he 
was  compelled  to  take  a  new  departure. 

Ten  years  ago  he  established  the  Orphan  Homes  of  Scot- 
land. It  was  a  quiet,  modest  beginning :  only  a  large  room 
in  a  back  lane,  with  a  kitclien  partitioned  off,  and  the  bare 
brick  walls  brightened  with  a  few  Scripture  texts.  That  Avas 
a  cold,  wet  November  night  when  the  first  boy  peeped  in  at 
the  door.  He  was  jacketless  and  shoeless,  and  all  dripping 
with  the  rain.  With  a  suspicious  look  round,  he  asked  if 
there  were  any  more  boys  going  to  sleep  there  that  night,  for, 
if  not,  he  was  n't  coming  in.  Still,  the  genial  warmth  of  the 
fire  was  very  enticing,  and  he  slowly  slid  inside  the  door. 
Then  the  kindly  word  was  spoken  ;  and  when  he  felt  some- 
what at  home  the  s6dden  rags  were  removed  from  him,  and 
he  was  cleansed  and  clothed  and  fed.  This  was  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Orphan  Homes  of  Scotland,  ten  years  ago,  by 
William  Quarrier. 

In  that  period  lie  has  rescued  and  set  in  the  w.ay  of  well- 
doing upward  of  two  thousand  children  ;  while  as  many 
more  have  been  casually  helped.  In  the  City  Home,  a 
building  which  cost  forty  thousand  dollars,  he  shelters  one 
hundred  and  twenty  children  ;  at  Bridge-of-Weir,  in  Ken- 
frewshire,  he  has  ten  Cottage  Homes,  where  three  hundred 
and  fifty  boys  and  girls  are  taught  and  cared  for ;  and  in  the 
Govan  Road  Homes  there  are  one  hundred  and  thirty  chil- 
dren training-  for  emigration  to  Canada.  Thus  with  the 
Invalid  and  other  Homes  he  is  able  to  accommodate  upward 


INDIVIDUAL  EFFORT.  381 

of  six  hundred  little  ones.  During  ten  years  the  money 
placed  at  Mr.  Quarrier's  disposal  by  voluntary  givers  has 
been  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  ;  and  the 
Homes  he  has  erected  have  cost  about  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars. 

This  is  a  good  work,  and  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  begun 
is  characteristic  of  the  man  who  has  accomplished  it.  He 
resolved  that  no  one  should  be  called  on  for  subscriptions ; 
that  no  donors,  while  alive,  should  have  their  names 
published ;  that  the  accounts,  examined  by  a  qualified 
accountant,  would  be  laid  annually  before  the  public ;  that 
no  gift  as  an  endowment  of  the  work  would  be  accepted; 
and  that  he  would  give  his  whole  time  and  energy  to  the 
extension  and  maintenance  of  this  his  proper  work.  That 
these  resolutions  have  been  kept  with  unswerving  faithful- 
ness may  be  seen  in  the  success  attained,  and  also  by  the 
fact  that  he  refused  forty  thousand  dollars  last  year  because 
it  was  offered  in  endowment  of  the  work.  Although  we 
do  not  sympathize  with  him  for  this  view  of  endowments, 
yet  we  can  see  that  it  required  faith  and  courage  to  refuse 
this  offer;  especially  when  one  considers  that  the  increasing 
expenditure  will  soon  demand  a  yearly  income  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars. 

These,  then,  are  some  of  the  solid,  outstanding  facts  and 
figures  regarding  the  Orphan  Homes  of  Scotland  ;  worthy 
enough  to  he  set  down,  but  giving  us  more  than  a  hint  of  the 
daily  difficulty  and  loving  kindness  which  underlie  the  bare 
statement  of  them.  At  the  City  Home,  the  little  ones  are 
brought  in  day  by  day.  Here  is  the  raw  material  out  of 
which  good  citizens  are  to  be  made.  Very  unpromising  to 
look  at  —  unkempt,  ragged,  and  dirty,  with  a  quick,  suspicious 
look  in  the  wild  eyes,  and  the  raw,  red  marks  of  cold  and 
cruelty  set  deeply  on  them.  Theirs  is  the  same  old  tale  — 
father  and  mother  drunkards  or  dead,  and  nothing  but  a  life 


382  STREET  AliABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

of  misery  and  crime  before  and  behind  them.  Children 
picked  np  in  the  streets  are  the  most  difticult  to  deal  with. 
They  regard  the  Homes  as  a  kind  of  private  prison ;  they 
resent  cleaning  or  curbing  ;  and  not  infrequently  break  away 
into  the  old  roving,  unrestrained  life.  This  only  happens  in 
the  first  few  weeks  of  admittance.  Very  quickh'  they  learn 
to  know  and  appreciate  the  kindly  individual  interest  taken 
in  them.  The  City  Home  serves  as  a  preliminary  training 
and  testing  place.  When  they  have  taken  on  a  little  civili- 
zation, they  are  drafted  into  the  Cottage  Home  in  the 
country. 

We  did  not  see  the  children  gathered  together ;  for  the 
day  was  Saturday  and  they  were  all  in  the  playrooms  of 
their  separate  Homes,  or  busy  on  the  swings  outside.  The 
great  storm  of  wind  that  had  prevailed  throughout  the  week 
was  lulled  to-day.  It  had  strewn  our  shores  with  wreck,  and 
made  many  a  hearthside  desolate ;  but  here  were  these 
children  —  children  of  social  wreck  and  desolate  homes  — 
making  merry  in  tlie  bracing  November  air.  The  sound  of 
their  laughter  came  very  pleasant  to  us ;  more  pleasant  as 
we  thought  of  whence  they  had  come,  each  one  of  them  with 
a  tale  of  hunger  and  hardship.  Then  there  was  no  foolish 
uniformit}'  of  dress  nor  any  dull  ser^'ility  of  demeanor  to 
lessen  the  pleasure  of  meeting  them.  The  boys  touched 
their  caps  with  a  frank  air ;  and  when,  on  looking  on  tlirough 
the  "  Washington  Home,"  we  took  a  })eep  into  the  playroom, 
we  were  greeted  with,  "  Good-morning,  sir,  good-morning  I  " 
by  a  score  of  happy  voices.  The  loud  romp  was  hushed  for 
a  little  as  we  looked  around  on  the  bright  faces,  but  resumed 
as  we  went  our  way.  There  in  the  shining  kitchen  were 
busy  housewife  hands  preparing  dinner :  and  it  was  no  small 
pudding  that  we  saw  tossed  out  steaming  and  spreading  a 
rich  savor;  and  no  little  toil  has  this  mother  with  her 
thirty  children  to  care  for.     Upstairs  are  three  dormitories 


IXDIVIDUAL  EFFOZir.  383 

with  their  thirty  small  beds,  each  with  its  tiny  wardrobe  for 
Sunday  clothes  and  all  little  sacred  possessions  of  book  or 
doll.  It  is  a  delight  to  peep  into  these  small  wardrobes,  for 
you  can  see  a  child's  character  in  every  one  of  them.  Here 
also  is  the  bathroom,  with  an  abundance  of  pure  water  and 
an  array  of  thirty  little  bags,  each  with  its  comb  and  brush. 
Looking  at  all  these  things  We  felt  that  this  was  indeed  a 
true  home  ;  Avhere  all  the  individual  needs  and  possessions 
were  cared  for  and  conserved. 

Most  of  these  fine  buildings  are  the  large  gift  of  individuals. 
Here  as  an  instance  are  the  offices,  built,  as  this  carven  stone 
tells  us,  by  "T.  C. "  :  no  gift,  small  or  great,  being  acknowl- 
edged here  by  fuller  designation  than  that.  These  offices 
contain  engine-house,  printing-office,  jointer's  shop,  laundry, 
stables,  etc.  For  it  is  in  the  purpose  of  Mr.  Quarrier  to  give 
his  boys  an  opportunity  of  learning  a  trade  under  skilled 
direction.  It  is  also  his  intention  to  have  a  ship  set  upon  the 
meadow  by  the  riverside,  where  boys  who  liave  a  strong 
desire  for  the  sailor  life  may  be  enabled  to  learn  a  little  of 
their  profession  before  going  to  sea.  In  all  things  here  there 
is  a  spirit  of  forethought  and  enterprise  ;  so  that  when  we 
drove  homeward  over  the  old  bridge,  it  was  with  a  feeling  of 
pleased  surprise  at  the  greatness  of  the  work  and  the  silent, 
dreamlike  way  in  which  it  had  all  uprisen. 

But  there  is  another  side  of  this  nol)le  work  which  we 
must  note.  It  was  very  soon  found  out  by  Mr.  Quarrier, 
that  to  give  these  ciiildren  a  few  years'  training,  and  then 
turn  them  back  into  tlie  temptations  of  the  city,  was  simply  to 
undo  all  the  good  tliat  had  l)een  done.  So  he  bethought  him 
that  a  scheme  of  emigration  would  be  the  best,  as  it  seemed 
the  only,  way  to  solve  this  difficulty.  The  wisdom  of  this 
scheme  has  been  proved  by  its  splendid  success.  Of  the 
eight  hundred  and  fifty-six  children  who  have  found  a  home 
in  Canada,  ninety-five   per  cent,  have   turned  out  well.     So 


384 


STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 


V7e\\  trained  and  such  good  children  have  they  proved  to  be 
in  Ontario,  that  there  is  no  difficulty  in  finding  comfortable 
homes  for  them.  The  farmers  are  very  anxious  to  adopt 
them  into  the  family  circle  ;  so  that  the  one  hundred  and 
fifty-six  children  sent  to  Ontario  in  one  spring  were  imme- 
diately provided  for.      Thus  they  have  started  in   life  far 

away  from  the  old 
evil  associations  and 
temptations,  and 
amid  healthy  and 
encouraging  circum- 
stances. 

The  children  to  be 
thus  dealt  with  are  set 
apart  and  specially 
trained.  This  is  done 
in  the  Cessnock  and 
Elmpark  Homes,  situ- 
ated in  the  suburbs 
of  Glasgow.  These 
two  roomy  country- 
houses,  with  open 
ground  round  about 
them,  make  good 
training  -  homes  for 
the  little  emigrants. 
Here  we  found  one 
hundred  and  tliirty  boys  and  girls,  in  separate  houses, 
gleeful  witli  the  prospect  of  going  ''out  West"  next  year. 
The  boys  in  their  workshop,  and  the  girls  in  laundry  and 
kitchen,  were  busy  as  they  well  could  be.  In  the  school- 
room the  smaller  girls  —  and  some  of  them  were  very  wee  — 
bent  over  slate  or  seam,  but  when  we  entered  there  was  a 
greeting  of  blithe  voice  and  happy  face  on  every  side.     Then 


A    CHINESE    "ARAB. 


INDIVIDUAL  EFFOBT.  385 

they  sang"  us  a  hymn,  entitled  ''  The  Children's  Jubilee." 
Every  smallest  voice  was  eager  to  join  in  when  the  elder 
girls  took  up  the  melody  ;  every  face  was  radiant  with  joy. 
The  level  morning  sunlight  came  in  through  the  wide 
window  in  a  great  flood  and  dazzled  the  room,  and  every 
little  child  there  was  touched  by  it.  Still  tliey  sang  of 
"  Jubilee,  jubilee  !  "  and  with  such  a  stir  of  gladness  in  the 
chorus,  and  such  a  pathos  of  appropriateness  in  the  words, 
that  we  had  to  stay  our  own  singing,  for  our  eyes  were  wet 
with  tears  when  Ave  thought  of  these  little  ones  as  they  once 
were,  and  as  now  they  were  here  to-day  singing  '•'  Jubilee." 
They  take  great  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  a  home  in  that 
far  country,  for  many  are  the  cheery  letters  sent  here  by 
those  who  have  already  gone  forth. 

Yet  the  work  of  getting  them  equipped  for  the  journey  is 
very  arduous.  For  many  uKuiths  beforehand,  busy  needles 
all  over  the  country  are  preparing  their  outfit.  Every  child 
has  its  own  store  of  dresses.  Then  there  comes  a  day  in 
the  springtime  when  all  the  small  boxes  are  packed,  and  the 
band  of  little  emigrants  is  ready  to  go.  There  is-  a  parting 
service,  when  hymns  are  sung,  and  God's  blessing  asked  to  be 
with  the  children.  The  carriages  stand  ready  at  the  door,  and 
there  is  laughter  and  scrambling  as  to  whom  shall  be  up  first. 
So  with  flag-flying  and  with  shouting  they  drive  to  the  quay. 
A  crowd  lines  the  way,  and  there  is  a  kind  of  triumphal 
procession,  with  much  cheering.  When  the  children  are 
gathered  on  the  ship's  deck,  —  the  boys  in  dapper  jackets, 
the  girls  in  red  hoods,  —  they  make  a  pretty  and  pleasant 
sight.  The  many  friends  and  onlookers  who  crowd  the 
wharves  toss  fruit  and  sweetmeats  on  board,  to  the  great 
delight  of  the  little  ones.  Then  the  big  sliip  swings  slowly 
out  into  the  river,  and  the  people  cheer  ami  the  children 
send  it  back  in  earnest,  led  by  Mr.  Quarrier,  who  usually 
goes  with  them ;  and  thus  these  rescued  ones  go  forth  to   a 


386  STSEET  ABAnS  AXD  GUTTER  SXirE6\ 

new  life  with  many  a  *•  Good  speed  ! ""  and  "  God  bless  you  I '" 
sent  after  them. 

This,  then,  is  the  noble  answer  William  Quarrier  has 
given  to  the  question :  "  Wliat  can  we  do  with  the  city 
waif?"  It  is  a  reply  of  hard  work  and  solid  good  accom- 
plished. He  has  placed  it  in  the  poAver  of  Scotch  people  to 
find  a  home  for  any  orphan  child,  and  given  undoubted 
evidence  that  it  will  be  well  trained  and  cared  for.  We 
have  seen  the  children  as  he  takes  them  in  —  wild,  hungry, 
miserable  ;  Ave  have  seen  them  as  they  are  sent  to  Canada  — 
clean,  bright,  joyous  ;  and  the  contrast  is  so  great,  the  change 
so  good,  that  we  cannot  find  words  strong  enough  to  express 
our  appreciation  of  it.  He  has  done  much  in  self-sacrifice 
and  devotedness  during  the  last  eighteen  years.  Yet  his 
ambition  is  to  do  more. 

In  his  statement  t)f  last  year's  work,  Mr.  Quarrier  said : 
"  That  eight  hundred  and  eighteen  children  and  young- 
people  have  passed  through  the  Homes,  five  hundred  and 
seventy  of  whom  have  been  permanently  helped,  and  two 
hundred  and  forty-eight  casually,  and  that,  too,  at  so  small 
a  cost,  is  a  matter  of  great  tlmnkfulness  to  God.  Eighteen 
years  ago,  when  I  began  to  labor  among  poor  children,  I 
devoted  eight  hours  a  day  to  that  work,  and  found  it 
increased  on  my  hands.  Six  years  afterward,  while  consider- 
ing whether  1  could  give  more  time  to  it,  the  Lord,  in 
answer  to  prayer,  sent  #10,000,  to  commence  the  Homes, 
and  so  decided  the  ([uestion  for  me.  At  that  time  I  resolved 
that  no  family  or  personal  interests  should  interfere  Avith 
carrying  forAvard  the  Avork  of  the  Homes.  I  soon 
found  that  they  recpiired  more  personal  attention  than  my 
former  efforts,  and  that  meant  less  time  to  my  business, 
which  had  been  carried  on  by  me  for  tAventy  years,  and 
was  one  of  the  largest  and  most  successful  of  its  kind  in 
the  city.     In  1875,  I  gave  up  one  third  of  it,  at  a  considerable 


THE  STREET   BOY  ON   A   FARM. 


INDIVIDUAL  EFFOBT.  389 

loss  of  means  and  lessening  of  income,  hoping  to  l)e  able 
to  do  the  work  of  the  Homes  and  manage  the  other  two 
branches.  After  four  years,  the  pressure  of  the  work  necessi- 
tated giving  up  my  second  place  of  business,  at  a  still  further 
loss  of  means  and  income. 

"  From  the  l)eginning  of  the  Homes,  I  may  say  that  my 
whole  time,  seventeen  hours  a  day,  has  been  taken  up  in 
tlie  work  connected  therewith,  with  the  exception  of  one 
hour  devoted  to  my  own  business.  The  increasing  demands 
of  the  work  will  not  even  permit  of  that  now,  and  I  have 
resolved  to  give  up  the  remaining  branch  of  business  —  my 
only  source  of  income.  For  the  last  four  years  it  has  been 
carried  on  at  a  loss  by  the  necessity  of  having  to  pay  others 
to  do  my  share,  so  as  to  leave  me  free  for  the  Homes.  I 
believe  now  it  was  the  Lord's  will  years  ago  that  I  should 
do  what  I  have  now  done.  Work  of  such  magnitude  as  he 
lias  called  us  to,  needs  constant  supervision,  and  that  I  have 
given,  so  that  my  whole  time,  as  well  as  that  of  my  wife  and 
family,  has  been  occupied  in  it.  This  explanation  is  neces- 
sary, as  some  are  under  tlie  impression  that  I  have  money 
invested,  and  that  I  live  partly  off  the  Homes.  Such  is  not 
t\\e  case.  1  have  no  invested  capital,  nor  have  I  ever  at  any 
time  lived  off  the  Homes.  The  opposite  is  the  fact,  as  a 
considerable  portion  of  my  own  means  has  been  given  and 
spent  in  the  interests  of  the  work.  For  the  future  1  have 
resolved  to  continue  in  the  same  course  ;  that  is,  not  to  touch 
anything  belonging  to  the  Homes,  but  to  depend  entirely 
on  the  Lord  to  send  what  I  refjuire  for  myself  and  family. 
I  do  not  say  that  all  should  do  as  I  have  done,  but  if 
they  are  led  by  the  Lord  in  the  same  way  as  I  have  been, 
there  is  no  other  course  left  open  to  them." 

During  this  year  the  Lord  has  sent,  in  answer  to  prayer, 
over  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  throughf)ut  the  nine  years 
the    Homes    have    been    in  operation   almost  three  hundred 


390 


STUEET  AEABS  AND  GUTTEIi  SNIPES. 


thousand  dollars ;  besides  many  articles  of  clothing,  pro- 
visions, etc.  Upward  of  fourteen  hundred  children  and 
young  people  have  been  rescued  and  })laced  in  the  way  of 
helping  themselves.  Two  thousand  children,  and  others, 
have  been  casually  helped.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  tracts 
have  been  circulated  among  the  poor  and  in  low  lodging- 
houses.  Tens  of  thousands  have  had  the  gospel  preached  to 
them,  and  the  Lord  has  blessed  his  own  wcnxl  to  the  con- 
version of  many.  The  City  Home,  whicli  is  one  of  the  finest 
buildings  for  the  purpose  anywhere,  has  been  built  at  a  cost 
of  forty  thousand  dollars.  Forty  acres  of  land  at  Bridge-of- 
Weir  have  been  purchased,  and  eight  houses  erected  thereon, 
at  a  cost  of  over  one  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  the 
Orphan  Homes  are  in  every  way  worthy  of  the  land  whose 
name  they  l)ear. 

A  Christian  physician,  who  has  many  opportunities  of 
judging  the  results  of  emigration  in  Canada,  writes  the 
following  friendly  note  to  Mr.  Quarrier,  fully  endorsing  his 
humane  Avork  in  placing  Ins  children  l)eyond  the  possibility 
of  starvation,  where  also  they  can  earn  their  own  livelihood. 
This  letter  speaks  for  other  workers  engaged  also  in  this 
im2)ortant  and  benevolent  enterprise  :  — 

I  have  only  recently  received  your  last  Report,  or 
"Narrative  of  Facts,"  and  find  that  the  perusal  of  it  has 
been  so  refreshing  and  strengthening  to  one's  faith  that  I 
must  write  you  a  few  lines.  "  What  hath  God  wrought  ?  "  we 
are  often  led  to  say  in  view  of  something  vast  or  wonderful 
which  at  once  challenges  our  admiration  ;  but  how  little 
heed  do  we  give  to  the  mighty  works  which  are  wrought 
tlirough  the  Spirit  by  faith!  ''All  things  are  possible  to 
him  that  believeth";  but  how  weak  is  the  faith!  Oh,  my 
dear  brother,  I  do  thank  our  Heavenly  Father  for  your 
tvork  of  faith  and  labor  of  love!     May  your  faith  and  love 


INDIVIDUAL  EFFORT.  391 

grow  exceedingly  unto  the  j^raise  of  our  God  and  tlie  honor 
of  the  Saviour's  name. 

Your  children  in  this  section  of  Canada,  of  whom  there 
are  now  a  goodly  number,  are  all,  without  exception,  doing 
well.  They  are  happy  and  contented,  in  comfortable  homes, 
with  good  prospects  in  life.  No  doubt  many  of  them,  if  not 
all,  will  be  required  to  work  hard ;  that,  however,  is  not  an 
evil,  but  a  good  thing,  in  this  country.  1  have  abundant 
opportunities,  as  I  travel  through  the  country,  of  seeing  and 
hearing  about  the  children,  and,  as  I  take  a  deep  interest  in 
their  welfare,  I  always  inquire  about  them,  and  seldom  do  I 
hear  comj)laints.  Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that 
everything  is  perfect ;  far  from  that.  But  it  is  wonderful, 
when  we  consider  the  antecedents  and  former  history  of  the 
children,  to  find  them  turning  out  so  well ;  ninety-five  per 
cent,  is,  as  far  as  my  observation  goes,  warranted  by  the 
results.  We  remember  your  former  visit  to  this  place  with 
much  pleasure,  although  to  you  there  must  be  a  reminis- 
cence of  pain  — physical  pain.  We  look  forward,  if  the  Lord 
will,  to  greet  you  yet  again.  I  enclose  a  small  amount  in 
aid  of  the  Lord's  work,  as  you  may  think  best.  I  will  be 
haj)py  in  being  able  to  put  a  "  brick "  or  a  "  stone  "  into 
the  building. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

LOCAL   CHARITIES. 

Emigratiou  Not  Alw.i3's  Practicable.  —  Cripples'  Homes.  —  Family  Life  tlie  True 
Principle.  —  Dr.  Howe's  Plea.  —  Children  Should  be  Mothered.  —  The  First  Re- 
formatorj-  Institution  on  the  Family  Plan.  —  People  at  first  Sceptical.  —  Nineteen 
Years  of  Experience.  —  Wonderful  Success.  —  Penal  Systems  Modiiied.  —  Objections 
Answered.  —  A  Good  Fann  Needed. — A  Good  Location  Near  Markets  Essential. — 
Everything  Should  be  Made  Educative  and  Pleasant.  —  Distinguishmcnts  in  Dress 
Should  be  Avoided.  —  Make  the  Boy  Self-sustaining.  —  The  Home  Must  be  Well 
Officered.  —  Tlie  Fountains  of  Influence.  —  Christian  Gentlemen  and  Ladies.  — 
Children's  Charities  in  Towns  and  Villages.  —  What  Neglected  "  Arabs "'  Become.  — 
Village  Charities. — Girls  Harder  to  Manage  than  Boys. —  City  Charities. —  Half- 
time  Schools.  —  New  York  Experience.  —  Day  Industrial  Schools.  —  Cleanliness  and 
Industry.  —  Creches  for  Babies.  —  Lodging-Houses.  —  How  Prepared.  —  "  Placing 
■Out."  —  Must  be  Conducted  with  Great  Caution.  —  Summer  Homes.  —  Summary  of 
Work  Done  by  Children's  Aid  Society.  —  Financial  Status.  —  Effects  on  Crime. — 
Sanitary  Results.  —  Report  from  Kansas.  —  The  AVork  of  one  Extensive  Charity. 

"Tj^MIGRATION  is  not  always  practicable.  It  cannot 
possibly  embrace  all  who  are  worthy,  and  mnst  leave 
nntonched  the  countless  incapacitated  children  of  our  towns 
and  cities.  But  these  must  not  be  left  to  perish.  There 
are  in  some  quarters  Cripples'  Homes,  for  instance,  whose 
doors  are  open  to  a  certain  class  of  unfortunate  children. 
Here  they  are  educated,  taught  trades,  and  prepared  for 
the  battle  of  life,  for  which  before  they  were  so  illy  fitted. 
Sometimes  a  fee  is  charged  which  covers  the  board  and 
clothing  of  each  boy.  This  gives  opportunity  to  an}^  well- 
disposed  person  to  make  selection  of  a  disabled  child  and 
pay  the  amount  required.  One  such  Home  is  thus  adver- 
tised :  — 

"The  institution  is  not  a  hospital  for  the  sick,  nor  a 
union  for  the  destitute,  nor  a  criminal  reformatory  for 
outlaws,  but  a  home  for  the  tender  care  and  wise  training 
in  industry,  morals,  and  religion  of  those  who,  from  no  fault 
of  their  own,  ai'e  afflicted  and  helpless,  and  so  to  educate 


LOCAL  CHARITIES. 


393 


them  that  they  may  hereafter  be  able  to  earn  an  honorable 
living  for  themselves."  % 

The  educational  and  moral  instruction  foi-ms  a  chief  part 
of  the  training,  and  hundreds  of  poor  crippled  lads  having 
been    graduated    from    this    colles'e    are   now   livinir   trulv 


TICKETS     FOR     CHARITY    SOUP. 


Christian  lives,  niaidy,  independent,  and  instead  of  being 
a  burden  are  proving  a  blessing  in  their  respective  circles. 

Of  late  years  the  home  and  family  system  has  become 
popular.  For  children,  no  doubt,  this  is  the  true  principle, 
and  if  the  home  system  had  not  a  large  place  in  the  emigra- 
tion department  it  would  be  robbed  of  much  of  its  value. 

Not  only  homes.,  but  villages,  are  now  established  for  the 
reception  of  neglected  or  orphaned  juveniles,  to    be  under 


394  SrBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

matronly  care  and  training  until  fitted  for  their  life-calling, 
whether  service,  a  trade,  or  a  profession.  No  child  can  look 
upon  an  asylum,  reformatory,  or  poorhouse,  as  a  Aome,  and 
when  cut  adrift  from  these  institutions,  which  gave  them 
friendly  shelter,  are  disposed  to  think  of  them  only  to  l)e 
classed  with  prisons  and  penitentiaries. 

In  the  Report  of  the  seventh  annual  conference  of  Asso- 
ciated Charities,  I  have  met  with  an  able  paper  on  this 
subject  by  Dr.  Howe.  It  is  altogether  so  excellent  and 
apropos  that  I  cannot  forbear  a  lengthened  quotation. 

The  doctor  pleads  in  behalf  of  reformatory  homes  for 
wayward  juveniles.  His  theory  is  sound,  and  its  practical 
workings  have  beeii  abundantly  successful.  If  the  home 
plan  is  the  wisest  for  this  class  of  children,  how  much 
stronger  the  plea  that  the  same  principle  should  govern 
institutions  Avhich  are  more  educational  and  charitable  than 
reformatory.  The  extract  from  Dr.  Howe's  paper  claims 
special  attention :  — 

The  universal  heart  of  men  will  acknowledge  the  strange 
potency  of  the  mother  upon  the  growing  character  of  a 
child,  and  especially  in  lasting  influence  upon  a  boy.  Here, 
then,  in  this  system  we  give  the  boy  to  be  mothered  by  giving 
liim  a  home,  such  as  the  necessities  of  the  penal  plan  know 
nothing  about ;  ;ind  especially  does  this  consideration  rise 
into  momentous  inip(n'tance  as  we  know  that  many  of  the 
commitments  are  of  children  of  tender  age.  Then  if  we 
can  have  a  reformatory  system  that  will  give  us  woman's  ear 
to  listen  to  little  ailments,  woman's  hand  to  soften  the 
rigors  of  the  young  orphaned  life,  and  the  sc;eptre  of  woman's 
soft  and  winning  love  to  rule  in  that  strange  kingdom, — 
the  heart  of  a  child,  —  then  it  is  immeasurable  gain  !  .  .  . 

The  first  reformatory  institution  organized  u})()n  the  open 
or  family  plan,  in  this  countr}',  was  at  Lancaster,  Ohio,  in  the 


LOCAL  CHARITIES.  395 

year  1858,  founded  essentially  on  the  principle,  and  adopt- 
ing the  methods,  of  the  Rough  House,  at  Horn,  in  Germany, 
founded  by  Dr.  Wichern,  and  the  military  school  at  Mettray, 
France,  organized  by  De  Metz.  The  first  ten  boys  were 
received  from  the  Cincinnati  House  of  Refuge,  June  30  of 
the  first  year.  Two  of  the  four  original  buildings  for  family 
purposes  were  of  brick,  and  two  of  logs,  and  very  plain. 
These  soon  made  way  for  better  ones,  until  the  school  became 
one  of  surprising  and  s})lendid  proportions.  In  the  estab- 
lishment of  this  school,  of  course,  there  were  no  precedents 
that  Avere  at  all  well  defined  and  practicable,  by  which  its 
economy  could  be  guided.  All  was  new,  and  to  so  great 
extent  novel,  that  the  people  at  large  were  utterly  sceptical 
and  scoffing  toward  the  pretences  of  a  system  that  proposed 
to  govern  bad  and  criminal  boys  without  the  usual  apparatus 
of  the  prison ;  and  appropriations  came  sparingly  and 
grudgingly,  so  that  the  whole  pioneer  history  of  this  institu- 
tion is  largely  the  unwritten  one  of  arduous  and  painful  toil. 
And  the  tide  of  disbelief  and  opposition  only  began  to  flow 
back  when  there  went  out  from  the  institution  into  different 
parts  of  the  State,  by  twos  and  threes,  the  first  compan}'  of 
reformed  boys.  These  gave  such  universal  and  marked 
credit  to  the  place  and  work  that  had  saved  them,  that 
immediately  we  began  to  receive  the  grateful  interest  and 
support  which  the  fuller  success  of  the  institution  so 
imperatively  demanded,  and  thanks  to  an  all-Avise  helping 
Providence,  it  was  demonstrated,  to  us  convincingly,  over- 
whelmingly, in  our  nineteen  years  of  superintendence  of  that 
institution,  that  this  was  a  better  way  to  bring  into  a  true 
captivity  the  wayward  ])ody  and  spirit,  than  by  their  incar- 
ceration between  frowning  walls,  and  its  all-hateful  and 
abortive  array  of  brutal  power.  We  have  seen,  again  and 
again,  most  signally  vindicated,  that  heavenly  reminder  to 
men,  that  there  is  still  left  in  the  nature  of  their  most  fallen 


396  STBEET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

fellows  a  craving  for  mercy  and  kindness,  and  the  instinct 
to  respond  to  any  such  benign  exhibition.  Such  far- 
penetrating  and  marvelous  transformations  of  character  we 
have  seen,  as  the  harvest  of  this  policy,  that  we  have  said : 
"Indeed  it  does  run  current  Avitli  the  charities  of  God,"  "  It 
is  the  plan  of  God  himself,"  ."•  It  is  the  true  one,  and  there 
is  no  other." 

Of  the  large  number  that  passed  out  of  the  institution  to 
care  for  themselves,  a  mass  of  wonderful  and  most  gratifying 
statistics  could  be  gathered.  Among  the  number  may  be 
found  eminent  lawyers,  doctors,  and  members  of  other 
honorable  professions ;  some  passed  through  college  with 
high  honors  ;  some  have  become  editors  and  proprietors  of 
influential  journals  ;  others,  skilled  mechanics  and  tradesmen, 
while  scores  have  become  industrious  farmers  and  horticul- 
turists, ac(|uiring  their  taste  and  knowledge  of  these  noble 
industries  at  the  school.  Most  aftecting  reminiscences  of 
soldierly  fidelity  could  be  given  of  those  who  enlisted  in  the 
war  of  the  Rebellion.  We  do  not  believe  that  the  same 
number  of  youths  taken  from  the  ordinary  walks  of  life 
would  furnish  a  better  average  record,  and  yet  the  majority 
of  these  boys,  who  have  made  these  good  records,  were  from 
the  lower  walks  of  society.  But  it  may  be  possible  that  it 
will  occur  to  some  minds  that  such  successes  were  isolated 
and  phenomenal ;  then  let  us  add  to  this  testimony  the  wide 
and  significant  fact  that  the  Ohio  School  has  become  the 
pioneer  and  pattern  of  similar  institutions  in  several  of  the 
States,  and  that  no  State  since  the  successes  of  that  school 
has  erected  a  reformatory  on  the  prison  plan ;  while  on  the 
other  hand,  some,  while  not  seeing  their  way  clear  to  make 
radical  changes,  have  modified  their  penal  systems. 

The  following  States  have  adopted  the  open,  or  family 
institution,  either  fully,  or  with  slight  modifications  :  New 
Jersey,    Wisconsin,    Indiana,    Iowa,    Minnesota,    Michigan, 


LOCAL  CHARITIES.  397 

Western  Pennsylvania,  and  the  District  of  Cohimbia.  The 
States  of  Ohio,  Massachusetts,  and  Connecticut  have  each 
a  school  on  the  open  plan  for  girls  and  for  boys ;  Massachu- 
setts has  her  institution  at  Westborough  as  a  "  mixed  "  one. 
In  addition  to  the  "  big  house,"  or  prison  portion,  there  are 
"trust"  houses  outside  the  walls.  Connecticut  is 'adopting 
essentially  this  modification,  beginning  to  Ijuild  outside  of 
the  walls  this  year,  it  being  the  best  she  can  do  for  the 
present.  We  are  confident  that  other  States  would  wholly 
or  partially  adopt  the  family  system,  if  it  were  not  that  large 
expenditures  having  been  made,  new  outlays  would  come 
only  by  great  effort   and   with    natural  reluctance. 

Objections  having  been  advanced  against  the  open,  or 
family  system,  that  it  is  natural  to  su})pose  will,  from  time  to 
time,  be  revived,  it  will  be  our  attempt  to  reply  to  these ; 
and  first,  in  a  more  general  way,  by  discussing  the  requisites 
favorable  to  the  success  of  a  reformatory  on  the  family 
system,  which  it  is  hoped  will  meet,  at  least,  the  more  trivial 
misgivings ;  and  second,  by  a  particular  consideration  of  the 
more  special  objections. 

The  primary  requisite  is  a  farm  of  thoroughly  good  land, 
and  large  enough  to  furnish  all  the  necessaries  and  some  of 
the  luxuries,  that  the  needs  of  the  institution  may  be  met, 
and  to  spare.  Large  and  fertile,  that  it  may  never  lack 
support  for  a  sufficient  herd  of  cows,  and  for  the  necessary 
equipment  of  the  farm.  All  the  fruit  trees  which  will 
flourish  in  the  region  should  be  lavishly  planted  and  assidu- 
ously cultivated.  The  greatest  number  of  acres  ]30ssible 
should  be  reserved  for  tillage,  because  these  acres  are  to  be 
such  real  factors  to  the  boys'  refoimation.  We  liave 
remarked,  as  a  prime  consideration,  that  the  land  should  be 
thoroughly  good.  We  wish  to  emphasize  tins  so  essential 
necessity,  not  o]ily  that  the  institution  may  have  the  highest 
opportunities   to   pay  its  way,  but   also  in  the   moral    effect 


398 


8TBEET  ABABS  AXD  aUTTEB  SNIPES. 


upon  tlie  minds  of  the  officers  who  superintend,  and  the  boys 
wlio  work  it.  That  they  shall  not  have  to  toil  and  sweat, 
and  reap  not,  but  to  expect  bloom  and  wealth,  and  get  them. 
Indeed,  all  agricultural  and  horicultural  matters  are  to  have 
such  generous  attention  paid  them,  that  it  will  be  felt 
throuo'hout  the  institution  that  the  noble  farming  industrv 
is  the  chief  and  central  one.  Another  prime  prerequisite  is 
the  location  of  the  school  near  an  abundance  of  sweet,  pure 
water;  and  we  hardly  need  add  that  the  site  of  the  reform- 
atory should  be,  first  and  foremost,  a  healthful  one.  It 
should  also  be  situated  in  an  intelligent  and  moral  com- 
munity. The  surroundings  of  such  an  institution  are  of 
great  im^jortance.  There  are  many  such  institutions  that 
are  suffering  through  the  inimical  feeling  of  its  neighbors ; 
springing  large!}'  from  ignorance,  and  the  narrowness  bred 
of  it.  We  are  reminded  by  these  considerations  of  the 
hindrances  with  which  the  Ohio  School  had  to  contend,  and 
which  still,  in  great  measure,  hamper  it.  Its  farm  land  is 
wretchedly  poor,  necessitating  a  vast  amount  of  labor  and 
discouraging  hope,  —  and  at  its  inception,  at  least,  the 
standard  of  intelliccence  in  the  surroundino"  inhabitants,  and 
their  prejudices,  were  anything  but  desirable. 

The  location  of  a  reformatory  should  be  made  with  Avise 
reference  to  markets  and  transportation,  and  yet,  to  be  too 
near  a  city  or  large  village  is  detrimental,  —  yet,  on  the 
other  hand,  extreme  isolation  is  to  Ije  avoided.  All  life  and 
animation  which  indicate  the  honorable  progress  of  the  age 
are  profitable  as  incitements  to  body  and  mind. 

The  building  should  be  })lain,  but  substantial  and  comfort- 
able ;  the  executive  buildings  to  be  the  central  ones,  and  the 
family  cottages  coveniently  and  pleasantly  surrounding. 
The  cottages  to  be  appropriately  named,  and  surrounded 
with  the  beauty  of  lawn,  shrub,  and  flower.  Each  to  have 
its  own  family  garden  for  the  common  interest  of  the  house- 


LOCAL  CUAEITIES.  399 

hold,  and,  if  possible,  each  child  to  have  a  part  in  it,  as  his 
own.  This  latter  feature  was  at  one  time  pursued  with 
most  gratifying  results  in  the    Ohio  School. 

The  homes  should  be  homes  to  which  every  boy  can  aspire, 
by  industry  and  prudence,  and  he  should  be  so  taught. 
Everything  in  and  outside  the  homes  should  be  made 
educative  and  pleasant.  They  should  he  provided  with  an 
abundance  of  wholesome  food.  If  it  is  true  that  the  "  way  to 
man's  heart  is  through  his  stomach,"  how  much  more  is  this 
the  road  of  promise  in  the  growing,  vigorous  child.  No 
specilied  dietary  sliould  be  allowed  —  children  should  never 
know  beforehand  such  times  as  "bean  day,"  "fish  day,"  etc. 

All  distinguishments  in  dress  should  be  avoided.  Let  the 
boys  dress  as  other  boys  do.  Let  all  such  arbitrary  dis- 
tinctions be  put  as  far  away  as  possible,  that  the  child  may 
live  a  simple,  natural  life,  and  going  back  into  general 
society,    the    transition  shall    be    an  easy    and  natural    one. 

And  now  if,  in  the  ideas  thus  set  forth,  it  is  thought  there 
is  created  too  much  of  the  mere  pleasure-home,  with  danger 
of  engendered  idle  disposition,  and  character  lacking  thrift 
and  sturdiness,  we  say,  no !  While  it  should  be  the  sacred 
aim  that  the  comforts  and  pleasures  of  a  true  home  are  to 
accompany  all  efforts,  yet  the  aim  equally  sacred  and  sought 
is,  to  make  the  reform  institution  a  nursery  of  honorable 
industry,  and  the  formation  of  energetic  sturdy  habits  of 
thrift,  to  train  in  manly  and  Christian  purpose  and  action. 
In  trades  and  occu[)ations,  to  teach  the  boys  ferfeetly  what 
they  essay  to  learn,  whatever  it  is ;  that  for  their  own  sake, 
when  they  go  forth,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  State,  they  shall 
be  found  skilled  and  ex})ert  laborers.  The  great  aim  of 
this  education  should  be  to  make  the  boy  self-sustaining, 
himself  to  become  a  wise  and  worthy  head  of  a  family. 

As  a  second  consideration  in  the  prerequisites  for  a 
thorough  and  efficient  reformatory  on  the  family  plan,  we 


400  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

remark    upon    the    required    character    of    its    otBcers    and 
teachers. 

It  will  be  readily  acknowledged  that  this  matter  is  of 
first  moment  in  endeavors  to  get  what  little  good  is  possible 
from  the  i)rison  plan  of  reform  ;  but  regarded  in  its  relation 
to  our  family  system,  it  is  the  core,  the  marrow,  of  our 
system.  It  is  to  it  life,  paralysis,  or  death.  The  genius 
of  our  system  is  the  home  —  the  family.  In  the  heads  of 
it,  the  father  and  mother;  in  the  subordinate,  officer  and 
teacher — the  elder  brother.  In  methods  its  fundamental 
aim  is  kindness,  gentleness,  forbearance,  self-sacrifice,  human- 
izing and  Christian  influences.  Now,  to  have  a  weak  king 
or  magistrate  is  damaging ;  but  to  have  fathers  and  mothers 
and  brethren  of  the  family  inadequate  and  weak  is  destruc- 
tion. 

The  superintendent  to  be  sought  for  is  to  be  one  who  has 
had  actual  practical  experience  in  reformatory;  or  at  least  in 
some  philanthropic,  labor  —  of  course,  the  more  the  better; 
a  man  who  believes  his  work  to  be  the  noblest  on  earth, 
who  has'  enthusiasm  for  his  profession  ;  a  man  believing  with 
all  his  soul  in  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  family  system, 
and  expecting  results  from  it  with  an  assurance  like  that 
which  looks  for  the  sun's  light  and  shining  on  to-morrow; 
a  man  of  intelligence,  good  common  sense,  tact,  and  a 
conciliatory   spirit. 

These  same  general  requisites  of  character  are  to  be  sought 
for  in  all  the  subordinate  officers  and  teachers ;  love  and 
enthusiasm  for  the  work  are  ever  the  great  requirements 
to  be  insisted  on  in  the  choice  of  those  to  be  in  authority 
and  parentage  over  these  children  and  youth,  and  anything 
like  the  hireling  spirit  in  the  candidate  for  these  places  is 
to  be  abhorred,  and  the  mere  seekers  of  place  and  salary  to 
be  rejected  as  unworthy. 

In  the  government  of  the  reformatory  we  hardly  dare  say 


LOCAL  CHAEITIES.  401 

that  any  one  person  may  be  less  fitted  for  his  place  than 
another ;  bnt  if  any  such  thing  can  be  allowed,  then  again 
we  wish  to  emphasize  the  prerequisites  of  character  in  the 
heads  of  the  cottage  homes  —  the  liusbands  and  wives,  the 
fathers  and  mothers.  Yes,  we  will  even  say  that  there  may 
be  some  lack  permitted  in  the  chief  and  head  of  the  institu- 
tion, provided  such  want  is  offset  l)y  thorough  and  sterling- 
worth  in  the  heads  of  the  different  homes.  For  here  are 
the  fountains  of  influence,  here  are  the  hearts,  the  throbbing 
life-centres,  of  the  institution.  These  homes  are  the  suns 
from  which  are  to  irradiate  the  real  light  of  the  reformator3% 
and  if  they  suffer  any  eclipse,  the  shadows  are  deeper  than 
from  any  other  cause.  These  are  as  rudders  to  the  ship, 
while  all  else  is  but  the  crew,  and  even  if  the  captain  fails 
somewhat  as  a  navigator,  still  great  safety  may  be  hoped 
for  if  those  at  the  helm  are  good  and  true. 

Then  the  men  and  women  to  be  sought  as  the  heads  of 
these  homes  are  to  be  of  first  worth.  Christian  gentlemen 
and  ladies  —  persons  of  first-rate  common  sense  and  intelli- 
gence —  of  natural  refinement  as  well  as  some  acquired 
culture,  and  if  they  have  had  or  have  children  of  their  own, 
it  is  a  matter  of  gain.  If  not,  then  those  are  to  be  sought 
for  who  have  strong  natural  love  for  children,  and  sympathy 
with  child-life.  They  are  to  be  Christian,  that  in  ample 
way  they  may  be  in  God's  stead  to  the  untrained  ajid 
neglected  child,  —  qualified  to  lay  the  foundation  for  moral 
character,  and  the  efficient  architects  of  its  further  develop- 
ments, —  persons  whose  interest  in  the  child  relate  not  alone 
to  time,  but  to  eternity. 

As  the  subject  of  which  this  book  treats  is  important  to 
every  town  and  village,  1  gladly  avail  myself  of  a  valuable 
essay,  written  by  Mr.  C.  L.  Brace,  on  ''The  best  method 
of  forming   children's   charities   in  towns  and  villao-es  "  :  — 


4U2  STB  EST  ARABS  AND  (iUTTEIt  SNIPES. 

It  is  to  l)e  assumed  that  almost  every  town  and  village  has 
its  groups  or  families  of  poor,  vicious,  and  neglected  children. 
They  become  the  terror  and  danger  of  their  communities,  and 
grow  up  gradually  to  endanger  prosperity,  threaten  life,  and 
disturb  the  whole  order  and  morality  of  the  localities  where 
they  live.  If  entirely  neglected,  they  become  the  petty 
thieves,  robbers,  Inirglars,  vagrants,  and  tramps  of  their 
counties,  and  they  help  to  swell  that  great  tide  of  ])auperism 
and  crime  which  fills  our  almshouses  and  jails.  AVhat  a  single 
neglected  pauper  child  can  return  in  evils  and  curses  to  the 
community  for  its  neglect  is  wonderfully  shown  in  the 
statistics  collected  a  few  years  since,  by  the  New  York 
Prison  Association,  in  regard  to  the  child  in  Ulster  County, 
called  "  Margaret,  the  Mother  of  Criminals."  From  those 
statistics  it  appears  that  this  child  and  her  vagrant  sisters 
left  709  descendants,  of  whom  128  were  known  to  be  i)ros- 
titutes,  18  kept  houses  of  bad  repute,  Q'ii  were  diseased  and 
cared  for  by  the  public,  142  received  outdoor  relief  during  an 
aggregate  nund)er  of  731  years,  6-4  Avere  in  the  almshouse, 
and  76  Avere  publicly  recorded  as  criminals,  having  comntitted 
115  offences  and  been  116  years  in  jails  and  prisons.  The 
whole  cost  of  this  vagrant  child  and  her  sisters  to  Ulster 
County  and  the  State  of  Kew  York,  in  the  property  stolen 
and  destroyed,  and  the  public  expense  of  maintenance  and 
trial,  is  carefully  estimated  by  Mr.  Dugdale  at  !i'l,023,600. 

Each  village  and  town  contains,  no  doubt,  little  children 
who  are  laying  up  a  like  harvest  of  evils  and  curses  to  their 
own  communities  during  future  years.  The  practical 
question  then  arises :  What  is  »the  best  method  of  reaching 
these  children  with  moral  inlluences,  and  of  making  them 
industrious  producers,  good  citizens,  and,  if  possible.  Christian 
mi'U  and  women? 

Villaye  Charities.  —  In  a  village  the  methods  of  influ- 
ence are  somewhat  different   from  those  in  a   town   or  city. 


LOCAL  CIIAEITIES.  403 

There  is  not  so  much  opportunity  for  a  combined  effort 
to  improve  tliis  chiss  of  children,  and  they  must  be  left 
more  to  the  individual  influence  of  benevolent  men  and 
women.  Each  well-to-do  and  Christian  family  will  naturally 
know  in  its  town  some  semi-vagrant  and  half-criminal 
family  living  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  They  have 
been,  perhaps,  in  the  habit  of  giving  their  charities  to  such 
a  family,  but  if  they  would  raise  them  above  the  condition  of 
pauperism,  they  must  make  every  gift  dependent  on  the 
children  doing  some  little  job  of  work,  attending  the  village 
school,  or  receiving  some  instruction.  By  a  steady  })ractice 
of  this  kind,  continued  through  years,  they  will  graduall}^ 
make  the  children  self-supporting,  break  up  their  habits  of 
begging  and  vagrancy,  and  create  new  habits  of  order,  clean- 
liness, and  love  of  education.  It  may  be  that  they  will,  at 
length,  implant  in  these  young  minds  that  germ  which  is  the 
source  of  the  highest  moral  life,  even  the  love  of  Christ  and 
God.  All  this  can  only  be  effected  by  constant  individual 
effort  and  personal  sympathy.  It  may  be,  however,  that  this 
family  have  inherited  such  strong  tendencies  to  vagrancy 
and  crime,  and  live  in  such  vile  surroundings,  that  no  moral 
influence,  which  can  be  applied  in  the  village,  can  really 
reach  it.  In  that  case,  the  object  of  the  benevolent  helper 
should  be  to  endeavor  to  break  up  the  vicious  family.  The 
boys,  if  possible,  should  be  sent  off  to  distant  farms  or  con- 
veyed to  places  of  work  far  away,  where  all  their  associations 
are  changed.  If  they  have  begun  to  be  vagrants  and  petty 
criminals,  they  should  be  placed  for  a  year  or  two  in  some 
"  family  reformatory "  at  a  distance,  in  order  to  break  up 
their  habits,  and  then,  after  a  short  residence  there,  should 
be  transferred  to  individual  homes  far  away.  It  will  often 
be  found  that  such  lads,  when  once  all  their  associations  and 
surroundings  are  changed,  are  no  worse  than  the  ordinary 
boys   of  the  community  ;  and  if  their   vagrant    propensities 


-40'i  STEEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEE  SXIPES. 

he  gratified  naturally  in  a  free  life  on  the  borders,  they  may 
turn  out  very  good  trappers,  hunters,  or  pioneers,  and  never 
fall  again  under  the  penalty  of  the  law. 

With  the  girls,  the  case  is  more  difficult.  But  if  they  be 
taken  young  enough,  and  be  transplanted  to  far-away  homes 
where  they  are  respected  and  have  a  great  deal  of  work  to 
do,  and  where  there  is  much  happy  social  life,  they  will  often 
turn  out  very  well,  marrying  decently,  and  become  respected 
wives  and  mothers.  If,  however,  they  have  passed  the  line 
of  virtue,  the  only  course  seems  to  be  to  place  them  in 
"  family  reformatory  "  schools,  and  gradually  do  away  with 
the  evil  effects  of  their  former  vicious  lives.  The  chances, 
however,  for  such  cases,  as  our  reformatories  are  usually 
constituted,  are  not  very  favorable.  The  ordinary  crowded 
"•  ]\Iagdalen  Asylum  "'  seems  often  only  to  give  new  sugges- 
tions of  vice  to  these  unfortunate  young  girls. 

City  Charities.  —  The  founding  of  a  children's  charity 
in  a  town  or  city  is  an  easier  thing  than  in  a  village,  on 
account  of  the  greater  combination  of  workers  which  can  be 
obtained,  and  the  more  abundant  means  accessible. 

The  first  steps  should  be  to  ascertain  the  quarter  of  the 
town  in  whicli  there  is  the  most  childish  poverty  or  vice. 
Here  the  best  plan  seems  to  be  to  begin  b}^  hiring  a  plain 
room  which  shall  be  used  as  a  reading-room  or  night-school. 
A  warm-hearted  and  judicious  person,  if  possible  a  woman, 
should  be  put  in  charge.  The  room  should  be  made  warm 
and  light  for  the  winter  evenings,  and  a  cool  and  pleasant 
})lace  of  resort  in  summer.  It  should  be  furnished  with 
picture  papers  cand  instructive  books  and  joiu-nals.  The 
street-boys  and  vagrant  girls  should  be  made  to  understand 
that  this  is  a  sort  of  clubroom  for  their  benefit.  The  matron 
will  soon  discover  the  peculiar  wants  and  troubles  of  the 
poor  children  who  drift  into  the  room  :  some  she  will  find 
eager  to  learn  in  books  ;  others  wanting  work  and  situations ; 


LOCAL  CHABITIES.  405 

others  with  sick  parents  or  friends  needing  medicine  and 
advice ;  others  requiring  a  little  loan  to  start  them  in  ways 
of  self-support ;  others  requiring  but  slight  assistance  to 
enable  them  to  breast  the  waves  of  poverty  ;  others  falling 
into  difficulties  and  misfortunes  with  the  officers  of  the  law, 
where  a  kind  word  may  save  them  from  prison ;  others 
anxious  to  learn  sewing  or  some  trade  which  will  keep 
them  above  pauperism,  and  still  others  with  souls  brutalized 
and  ignorant,  but  yet  sensitive  to  Avords  of  religious  truth 
and  to  the  inspiration  of  Christian  teaching. 

Half-Time  Schools.  —  The  next  step  in  the  work  of  improve- 
ment in  these  destitute  children  will  naturally  be  to  opeir  a 
night-school  in  the  room  for  those  who  are  busy  during  the 
day,  and  therefore  cannot  attend  the  ordinary  public  schools. 
Such  a  school  should  be  Avhat  is  called  in  England  a 
"  half-time  "  school.  It  should  open  at  three  or  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  when  the  most  important  part  of  the  street- 
child's  work  is  over ;  should  go  on  till  six,  open  again  at 
seven,  and  close  at  nine.  There  should  be  much  music  in 
these  schools.  The  exercises  should  be  spirited,  and,  as  far 
as  possible,  oral,  and  a  great  deal  of  work  must  be  done  on 
the  l)lackboard,  as  the  children  are,  of  course,  tired  by  the 
labors  of  the  day.  Great  tact  should  be  shown  by  the 
teacher  in  not  exposing  too  much  the  ignorance  of  the 
pupils,  as  many  a  boy  of  fifteen  or  twenty  may  come  in  to 
learn  his  letters.  From  the  experience  in  New  York,  it  is 
found  that  a  women  in  a  night-school  can  control  the  rough- 
est of  these  lads.  She  will  naturally  set  a  great  deal  of  value 
on  writing  and  number  lessons,  as  these  are  very  important, 
practically,  to  the  boys.  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  provide 
food  for  these  night-schools,  as  the  members  are  generally 
earning  their  own  bread ;  but  little  festivals  should  be  cele- 
brated, and  occasional  entertainments  be  given  to  the 
children.     Much    instruction  and   amusement    may  be    con- 


406  STBEET  ABABS  AND  G  UTTEB  SXIPES. 

veyed  by  means  of  the  magic-lantern  and  solar  microscope. 
Such  schools  in  our  city  will  probably  be  open  during  the 
six  winter  and  autumn  months,  as  it  is  diiiticult,  in  mau}^ 
cases,  to  gather  street-children  into  the  night-schools  during 
the  summer. 

Dai/  Industrial  Schools.  —  The  next  Important  measure  is 
the  foundation  of  a  "day  industrial  school."  This  school 
is  designed  to  reach  such  children  as  are  necessarily  irregular 
in  their  attendance  at  the  public  schools,  owing  to  their 
being  employed  a  part  of  the  day  on  the  streets  or  at  home. 
It  includes,  also,  all  such  as  are  too  filthy,  ragged,  vermin- 
ous, or  vagrant  to  attend  school  with  the  children  of  the 
decent  laboring  class.  Many  of  them  will  only  be  induced 
to  enter  a  school  by  the  personal  efforts  of  a  visitor,  or  by 
the  hope  of  securing  food  and  clothing.  Some  will,  perhaps, 
be  driven  in  by  the  o})eration  of  the  "  com]iulsory  law,"  and 
all  will  belong  to  an  irregular,  destitute,  and  semi-vagrant 
class.  They  will  be  required  to  be  managed  with  great  tact 
and  discretion  by  a  skilful  teacher ;  they  will  need  various 
conveniences  for  bathing,  cleaning,  and  the  getting  rid  of 
vermin ;  they  must  be  supplied  with  a  simple  meal  at  noon, 
and  shoes  and  clothing  will  be  given  as  a  reward  for  industry 
and  good  conduct.  The  children  are  to  be  taught,  first  of 
all,  hand-sewing,  to  make  and  mend  their  own  clothes,  to 
darn  stockings,  to  work  on  the  sewing-machine,  and  to  carry 
on  various  simple  trades.  Part  of  the  day  must  be  given  to 
common-school  branches,  and  a  part  to  industrial  Avork. 
Much  use  should  be  made  of  music  and  singing  as  a  means 
of  education.  A  little  "savings  bank"  should  be  attached 
to  every  school,  paying  a  high  rate  of  interest  in  order  to 
lead  the  children  into  habits  of  saving.  A  "  kindergarten  " 
in  the  primary  department  is  extremely  useful  for  awakening 
the  faculties  of  the  youngest  children,  and  remarkal)le  pro- 
gress may  be  made  with  these  little  ones  in  the  science  of 


LOCAL  CHARITIES.  407 

numbers,  both  in  addition,  mnltiplication,  and  fractions  as 
applied  to  concrete  objects,  such  as  cubical  blocks  and  their 
divisions.  A  "  kitchen-garden "  will  often  train  the  elder 
children  in  household  branches,  which  will  be  very  useful 
afterward  to  them  as  domestics.  A  "  creche,''  or  "  nursery," 
is  an  admirable  adjunct,  as  enabling  the  elder  children  to  be 
schooled,  while  the  babies  are  cared  for  in  a  common  room. 

It  is  indispensable  for  the  success  of  the  industrial  school 
that  volunteers  should  do  a  considerable  portion  of  the  work. 
They  bring  to  the  enterprise  a  freshness  and  enthusiasm 
which  nothing  else  can  give.  The  brunt  and  burden  of  the 
labor,  however,  will  always  fall  upon  the  salaried  teachers. 
The  expense  of  such  schools,  for  salaries,  rents,  fuel,  cloth- 
ing, and  food,  will  average  from  fifteen  to  twenty  dollars  per 
head  annually  for  each  scholar  of  the  average  number  attend- 
ing daily.  These  schools  may  contain  both  sexes,  but  they 
should  not  seek  to  retain  the  pupils  after  the  ages  of  thirteen 
or  fourteen,  but  rather  push  them  forth  into  places  where 
they  can  support  themselves. 

Lodging-Houses. — The  next  great  step  in  improving  this 
class  of  children  should  be  to  make  provision  for  the  home- 
less. Nothing  is  better  in  this  respect  than  the  boys'  and 
girls'  "  lodging-houses."  A  plain  room  or  loft  is  to  be  hired, 
furnished  with  iron  bunks,  or  double  bedsteads,  and  plain, 
comfortable  bedding,  with  little  lockers  for  the  children's 
clothes,  and  plenty  of  bathing  room,  footbaths,  and  water 
appliances.  Great  care  should  be  taken  as  to  ventilation  and 
cleanliness;  and  in  the  boys'  lodging-house  no  boys,  except 
very  young  lads,  should  be  allowed  to  stay  about  the  building 
during  the  day.  Each  one  will  pay  a  small  sum  for  his 
lodgings  and  meals,  and  will  go  forth  in  the  morning  to  earn 
his  own  living.  Every  effort  must  be  made  to  preserve  the 
best  characteristic  of  the  class  —  their  power  of  self-help. 
If   they  are  absolutely  destitute,  money  should    be    loaned 


408  STEEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

them  to  start  in  street  trades,  A  '•'savings  bank"  must  be 
attached  to  the  house,  to  cultivate  habits  of  economy.  A 
""  gymnasium  ""  is  useful  as  a  competitor  for  places  of  low 
amusement;  and  a  drying-room,  to  dry  the  wet  clothes  of  the 
lads  after  a  stormy  day,  should,  if  possible,  be  added.  In  the 
girls'  lodging-liouse,  the  inmates  will  naturally  be  more  in 
the  house,  and  the  labor  in  the  building  will  be  largely 
carried  on  by  them.  With  dress-making  and  laundry  depart- 
ments, a  girls'  lodging-house  can  mainly  pay  its  own  way. 
The  average  net  annual  expense  per  head  in  these  lodging- 
houses  will  be  only  from  forty  to  fifty  dollars,  including  rent, 
salaries,  food,  clothing,  and  all  items. 

'■'■  Placing  Out^  —  All  the  various  branches  should  be 
made  the  feeders  for  the  highest  work  of  a  children's  charity, 
which  is  the  transference  of  homeless  and  abandoned 
children,  who  are  exposed  to  every  temptation,  to  good  liomes 
in  families  and  on  farms  in  tlie  country.  By  care  and  judg- 
ment, with  a  thorough  organization,  great  numbers  of  the 
unfortunate  children  in  our  towns  and  cities,  who  have  not 
yet  begun  criminal  courses,  can  be  placed  at  small  expense 
where  the}^  will  soon  earn  their  own  living,  become  industri- 
ous producers,  and  honest,  perhaps  Christian,  men  and  women. 
There  is  an  almost  endless  demand  in  the  country  for 
children's  labor  in  families  and  on  farms,  and  experience 
shows  that  a  young  child,  transplanted  from  the  city  to  such 
homes  as  abound  in  our  rural  districts,  will  often  drop  his 
evil  habits  and  do  better  than  the  average  children  of  our 
communities.  This  "  placing-out  "  movement  must,  however, 
be  conducted  with  great  caution.  The  poor  are  naturally 
very  susi)icious  and  sensitive  in  regard  to  such  a  disposal  of 
their  children,  and  reasons  of  bigotry  or  superstition  often 
come  in  to  obstruct  the  benevolent  effort.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  rural  districts  are  naturally  fearful  lest  the  juvenile 
poverty  and  crime  of  the  cities  should  be  drained  into  tlieir 


LOCAL  CHABiriE.S.  409 

localities.  One  or  two  eases  which  may  have  turned  out 
failures  will  often  cause  hundreds  of  successes  to  be 
forgotten,  and  thus  make  the  whole  movement  unpopular. 
Still,  care  and  wisdom  on  one  side,  and  patience  and  fair- 
mindedness  on  the  other,  v/ill  justify  the  "'  placing-out" 
system  as  one  of  the  best  methods  ever  discovered  of  ele- 
vating the  children  of  the  poorer  classes. 

Summer  Homes.  —  To  these  various  reformatory  branches 
of  children's  charities  sliould  be  added,  in  large  cities, 
sanitary  movements  and  efforts  for  affording  fresh  air  to 
the  children  of  the  crowded  tenement-houses.  Excursions 
may  be  made  to  give  the  children  a  picnic  or  a  day  in  the 
country ;  others  may  be  placed  out  for  a  few  weeks  with 
farmers  who  are  found  willing  to  receive  them  for  charity's 
sake.  For  others,  "•  summer  homes  "  should  be  opened  near 
the  seaside,  or  on  the  mountains,  where  the  children  of  the 
poor  could  have  a  week  of  fresh  air,  with  sea-bathing  or 
good  country  fare.  For  tlie  sick,  a  "  sanitaria  "  should  be 
opened  during  the  summer  months  at  the  seaside,  and 
mothers  with  infants  afHicted  by  summer  diseases  should 
be  conveyed  there  for  a  week's  stay.  The  same  sanitarium, 
warmed  by  open  fires,  could  be  used  as  a  "  children's  hospi- 
tal "  in  the  winter.  It  is  found  that  in  these  large  summer 
homes,  or  sanitaria,  the  average  expense  for  each  child, 
including  railroad  fares,  rent,  salaries,  food,  etc.,  need  not 
be  more  than  two  dollars  or  two  dollars  and  a  quarter  jaer 
head  for  a  week. 

This,  then,  is  a  sketch  of  what  children's  charities  in 
towns  and  villages  should  be.  So  far  as  cities  are  concerned, 
the  Children's  Aid  Society  of  New  York  has  been  built  up 
on  this  plan  during  tlie  past  twenty-six  years. 

Tlie  Children'' s  Aid  /Society.  —  The  Society  opened  in  1853, 
with  the  secretary  and  an  office-boy  for  agents ;  in  1880, 
it   employed    112   teachers,    superintendents,    and   matrons, 


410  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

Western  and  other  agents,  and  visitors ;  during  the  lirst 
year,  it  expended  •'i<-t,194.55 ;  hist  year,  its  expenditures  were 
•'$205,583.25 ;  it  provided  with  homes  during  that  year,  197 
chiklren ;  in  1880  it  phiced  out  3,773  persons,  of  whom  3,360 
were  chiklren.  Two  industrial  schools  were  founded  durino- 
'  the  first  year,  the  Fourth  Ward  and  the  German,  with  230 
children  in  attendance.  The  Society  has  now  twenty-one 
industrial  schools  and  twelve  night-schools,  with  an  aggre- 
gate attendance  of  9,098  children.  No  lodging-houses  were 
founded  duiing  the  first  year  (the  newsboys'  originating  in 
1854)  ;  in  1878,  the  Society  carried  on  six  lodging-houses 
(the  buildings  of  five  being  its  own  property,  valued  at 
-$300,000),  sheltering  and  instructing  some  13,652  different 
boys  and  girls,  of  whom  7.554  were  orphans,  with  an  average 
attendance  of  some  six  hundred  every  night.  In  addition, 
it  sustains  a  "summer  home,"  where  some  two  thousand 
children  enjoy  each  season  the  pleasures  of  the  seaside  and 
country  air. 

Since  the  first  year,  it  has  placed  out,  largely  in  Western 
homes,  55,717  homeless  persons,  of  whom  some  fifty-one 
thousand  were  children.  During  these  twenty-five  years, 
over  three  million  d(jllars  have  been  contributed  by  the 
public  to  this  charity,  and  it  stands  now  Avithout  any  debt. 

This  remarkal)le  growth  and  extent  of  charitable  labor 
during  a  quarter  of  a  century  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that 
this  Society  met  a  deeply-felt  want  of  the  city,  that  its  plans 
were  wisely  laid  and  etticiently  carried  out,  and  its  trustees 
and  agents  men  of  integrity  and  character.  So  far  as  is 
known,  not  a  dollar  of  these  three  millions  was  ever  wasted 
or  stolen,  but  it  was  all  intelligently  and  economically  ap[)lied 
to  the  purposes  of  this  charity,  and  has  all  been  repaid  many 
times  to  the  public,  in  the  scores  of  thousands  of  vagrant, 
outcast,  or  destitute  children,  who  have  been  turned  by 
means  of  it  into  honest  and  industrious  and  self-supporting 
men  and  women. 


LOCAL  CHAJilTIES.  411 

Some  three  hundred  thousand  dolhirs  of  this  sum  are  in- 
vested in  buiklings,  which  will  be  a  permanent  benefaction 
to  the  poor  cldldren  of  New  York  for  generations  to  come. 

Effects  on  Crime. — In  the  lodging-houses,  during  twenty-six 
years,  some  two  hundred  thousand  different  boys  and  girls 
have  been  sheltered  and  partly  fed  and  instructed.  In  the 
industrial  schools,  probably  over  five  hundred  thousand  poor 
little  girls  have  been  taught ;  and  of  these  girls,  it  is  not 
known  that  even  a  score  have  entered  on  criminal  courses 
of  life,  or  have  become  drunkards  or  Ijeggars,  though  four 
fifths  were  children  of  drunkards 

Vagrancy  and  crime  among  young  girls  have  been  greatly 
diminished  during  the  past  fifteen  or  twenty  years ;  while 
among  boys  Stiminal  offences  have  not  grown  with  the  popu- 
lation, but  have  been  held  decidedly  in  check. 

Sanitary  Results.  —  In  the  sanitary  field,  the  results  are 
equally  remarkable.  Among  162,148  boys  who  have  been, 
during  the  twenty-five  years,  in  the  Newsboys'  Lodging- 
House,  there  has  been  no  case  of  any  contagious  or  "•  foul 
air  "  disease,  not  even  ophthalmia  ;  only  one  death  (from 
pneumonia,  in  1858)  has  occurred,  though  there  have  been 
several  cases  of  accidents.  The  other  boys'  lodging-houses 
have  been  almost  ecjually  fortunate  ;  a  distinct  sanitary  result 
of  scrupulous  cleanliness,  ventilation,  and  proper  food.  The 
only  exception  has  been  in  malarial  diseases,  during  the  ])ast 
year,  at  the  Rivington  Street  Lodging-House,  owing  especially 
to  the  erection  of  a  new,  overcrowdetl  tenement-house  on  the 
adjoining  lots,  and  the  l)a(l  drainage  of  these  lots. 

Since  our  summer  enter[)rises  have  l)een  begun  in  the  Sick 
Children's  Mission  and  the  Summer  Home,  there  has  ])een 
a  steady  fall  of  the  death-rate  of  children  from  diarrh(eal 
diseases  in  the  summer.  In  producing  this  result,  the  Board 
of  Health  and  other  associations  have  had  a  share,  though 
the  twenty-five  hundred  children  refreshed  each  summer  in 


412  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

the  Summer  Home,  and  the  hundreds  relieved  by  the  Sick 
Mission,  must  have  materially  affected  the  death-rate  of  the 
city. 

"■Placing -Out.'"  —  With  reference  to  the  "-placing-out"  sys- 
tem, the  failures  have  been  a  very  small  proportion  to  the 
successes,  and  thousands  of  these  poor  boys  and  girls  have 
grown  up  to  be  useful  and  res})ectable  men  and  women. 

A  striking  instance  was  given  recently  of  the  effect  of  this 
plan,  in  the  disposition  of  some  trust  funds  put  in  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Whitelaw  Reid,  of  New  York.  They  were  applied, 
to  the  amount  of  several  thousand  dollars,  to  placing  out 
homeless  children  in  New  York,  on  farms  and  in  families, 
mainly  in  Kansas,  by  the  long-experienced  agents  of  the 
Children's  Aid  Societ3^  Several  hundreds  wei'e  thus  placed, 
and  the  greatest  possible  publicity  given  to  the  disposition  of 
them,  and  the  behavior  of  the  children.  A  Kansas  paper 
stated  recently,  that  out  of  seven  hundred  New  York 
children  thus  placed  in  Kansas  (part  having  been  previously 
sent  there  by  the  Society),  only  four  children  had  turned 
out  unfavorabl}'. 

Conclusion.  —  This,  then,  is  the  work  of  one  extensive 
children's  charity  in  the  city  of  New  York.  There  seems  no 
reason  why  similar  charities,  even  if  not  so  extensive,  should 
not  be  founded  in  all  the  large  cities  of  the  country.  There 
are  poor,  homeless,  and  vagrant  children  everywhere,  and 
ever}^  motive  of  self-interest,  of  political  security,  and 
Christian  duty,  prompts  to  eff'orts  to  aid  and  reform  them. 
We  trust  to  hear  throughout  the  land,  wherever  there  is 
childish  crime  and  misery,  of  the  formation  of  boys'  Sunday- 
meetings,  children's  reading-rooms,  day  industrial  schools  for 
the  poor,  kindergartens,  kitchen -gardens,  and  creches  for 
destitute  little  ones,  children's  lodging-houses  for  the 
homeless,  summer  homes  and  sanitaria  for  the  sick  and 
unfortunate,  and  a  judii-ious  placing  out  for  the  homeless 
and  neglected. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

CAPTURING    ARABS. 

A  Night  on  the  Streets.  —  Our  Fifth  Boy.  —  "Artful  Dodgers."  —  Mr.  Fegan's  Ex- 
perience.—  The  Key  to  Unlock  a  Boy's  Heart.  —  Christian  Ladies  Well  Qualified 
*0T  the  Work.  —  Remarks  by  the  PJarl  of  Shaftesburj.  —  Catching  "Arabs."  — 
Barnardo's  Metliods.  —  Midnight  Wanderings.  —  How  the  Low  Lodging  -  Houses 
are  Supplied.  —  The  Vilest  Seed  in  Town.  —  The  Doctor  and  tlie  Deputy.  —  The 
Fever  Patient.  —  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  —  "  The  Thief-look." —  "  Punch."  —  Punch's 
Interest  in  Uncle  Tom.  —  Anxious  to  Read.  —  The  Doctor's  I'roposal. — Punch  not 
Convinced.  — The  Bargain  Katifled.  —  An  Educated  Tliief  Most  Dangerous.— 
Punch's  Expertness  Surprising  the  Doctor.  ^ No  Harm  Done.  —  Sorry  Sometimes. 
—  "When  you're  Caught.  —  Punch  in  a  Passion.  —  An  Awakened  Conscience. — 
A  New  Creature.  —  Industry.  —  Change  of  Homes.  —  Marriage.  —  How  Punch  be- 
came a  Thief.  —  The  Tempter.  —  "  I  do  the  Liftin\" —  The  Power  of  Money.  —  First 
Theft.  —  "Arabs"  Lost  when  not  taken  in  Hand  early.  —  The  Expenditure  of 
Crime  and  Reclamation  Contrasted. 

rpHIS  is  by  no  means  an  easy  task.  The  writer  remembers 
spending  a  night  on  the  streets  with  two  friends,  look- 
ing into  nooks  and  corners,  visiting  low  lodging-houses  and 
thieves'  dens  in  pursuit  of  this  game.  We  met  with  many 
homeless  boys,  wretched,  shivering  atoms  of  humanity,  but 
could  induce  only  five  to  accept  our  proposal  of  lodgings, 
food,  clothing,  and  education /r^^^?  ;  they  on  their  part  promis- 
ing to  remain  in  the  Home  for  one  year,  when,  if  they  pre- 
ferred to  leave,  they  could  do  so.  It  was  safe  to  make  this 
proposition,  as  one  year  generally  in  a  well-regulated  Home 
will  cure  the  most  restless  of  vagrant  habits.     It  is  difficult, 

"^however,  to  persuade  a  street  boy  that  any  privileges  can 
~^^ compensate  for   Uherty.     They   abhor   restraint.     They   will 

I  endure  great  j^rivations  rather  than  yield  their  freedom.  Of 
course  I  refer  to  such  as  are  homeless  Avanderers,  whether 
through  misfortune  or  maliciousness.  The  story  of  the  fifth 
boy  (whom  we  discovered  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning), 
which  we  had  no  reason  to  doubt,  was  very  affecting.  His 
father  was  dead,  his  mother  had  gone  with  another  man,  and 


414  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SMPES. 

they  turned  him  off  to  shift  for  himself.  He  was  a  country 
lad,  and,  with  rustic  simplicity,  detailed  his  wanderings. 
When  we  explained  our  mission,  the  poor  boy's  eyes  opened 
wide  with  astonishment.  He  had  liad  no  sleep  all  night — the 
policemen  driving  him  from  the  doorsteps  ;  and  now  to  have 
a  comfortable  bed  offered  him  Avith  all  the  advantages  of 
a  home,  by  unknown  strangers,  fairly  puzzled  him.  It  was 
painful  to  watch  the  expressicni  of  fear  and  hope  alternating 
within  him.  Nor  did  he  fully  believe  in  our  good  intentions 
till  we  landed  him  safely  within  the  doors  of  the  blessed 
Refuge. 

Mr.  J.  W.  C.  Fegan,  not  the  diabolic  Fagin  of  Dickens, 
but  one  of  those  princely  advocates  of  "  Arab  "  reclamation, 
whose  whole  time  is  voluntarily  devoted  to  the  rescue  and 
elevation  of  street  children,  relates  an  experience  which 
illustrates  the  characteristics  of  caution,  so  highly  developed 
in  tliat  class  as  to  earn  for  themselves  the  title  of  *•*  Artful 
Dodgers."     This  is  the  story  :  — 

Some  time  ago  a  big  lad  used  to  render  me  great  assistance 
by  telling  me  of  others.  Out  of  ^uire  good-nature  he  would 
search  the  thronged  streets,  or  inquire  in  one  lodging-house 
after  another,  for  a  particular  bo}-,  whom  he  had  been  per- 
suading to  sro  with  me  the  next  time  I  visited  the  localitv. 
One  night  he  told  me  of  a  respectable  looking  boy,  evidently 
not  used  to  a  street  life,  who  had  lately  begun  to  pick  up 
a  living  outside  theatres,  by  fetching  cabs,  opening  carriage- 
doors,  etc.,  and  forthwith  Ave  set  off  to  find  this  lad.  Soon 
we  came  upon  a  knot  of  these  Bedouins  of  our  social  desert 
discussing  the  fortunes  of  the  night,  and  an  expressive  glance 
from  my  informant  indicated  which  of  them  Avas  the  boy 
in  question.  A  casual  inc^uiry  from  one  of  them  as  to 
Avhether  I  Avanted  an}'"  l)oys  for  my  Home,  Avas  quite  enough 
to  send  this  iicav  comer  shuftiing  off  to  get  out  of  my  Avay 


CAPTUmXG  AliABS.  415 

as  quickly  as  possible.  The  following  night  I  Avas  in  the 
same  neighborhood  again,  and  shortly  recognized  him  stand- 
ing at  the  corner  of  a  street.  Waiting  till  I  got  within 
apace  or  two  of  him  un()l)served,  I  called  out,  sharply:  '^  Hi  I 
l)oy,  carry  this  bag,"  handing  him  a  little  bag  that  I  could 
Avell  have  carried  myself,  but  I  knew  as  long  as  he  had  it  he 
was  to  a  certain  extent  tied  to  me.  After  a  little  conversa- 
tion, I  made  myself  known  to  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  well 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  finding  out  whose  company 
he  was  in,  I  proposed  (a  wonderful  key  to  unlock  a  cold, 
hungry  boy's  heart)  a  cu})  of  coffee  and  some  bread  and 
butter.  Before  we  reaelied  tlie  Home  he  had  resolved 
to  enter ;  and  the  following  day  lie  related  to  me  the  sad 
story  of  his  having  been  left  at  an  early  age  without  a  father 
or  mother,  and  having  been  brought  up  in  an  orphanage  till 
he  was  sent  into  the  service  of  a  tradesman,'  whom  he  had 
robbed  of  a  small  amount,  and  then  absconded,  fearing 
detection.  Such  was  his  dread  of  being  arrested  and  sent 
to  prison,  that  he  could  not  bring  himself  even  to  pass  a 
policeman  in  the  street.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  his  mind 
to  be  safely  sheltered  in  the  Home,  and  the  miseries  he 
endured  seemed,  at  any  rate,  to  have  taught  him  that  "the 
way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard."  From  how  many  years  of 
suffering  and  disgrace  his  sojourn  with  us  saved  him,  none 
can  tell  ;  suffice  it  to  say  that  he  is  now  earning  an  honest 
living  in  a  most  useful  occui)ation. 

Many  poor  boys  and  girls  \\li()  fear  the  arm  of  the  law, 
and,  however  innocent  of  crime,  having  an  innate  fear  of 
policemen  and  detectives,  may  We  easily  won  through  night- 
schools,  reading  and  coffee-rooms,  and  similar  places  opened 
specially  to  benefit  the  laijsed  masses.  Christian  ladies  are 
well  qualified  to  attempt  this  work.  The  Earl  of  Shaftesbury 
not  long  since  remarked  in  an  address :  — 


416  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEIi  SXIPES. 

This  is  a  generation  of  women's  work.  More  has  been 
done  by  ladies  in  this  generation  than  in  any  other.  The 
children  who  are  rescued  and  taught  by  means  of  Sunday- 
schools,  ragged-schools,  etc.,  become  little  missionaries  in 
their  own  homes,  and  I  believe  Ave  shall  find  hundreds  of 
parents  who  have  been  brought  to  the  Lord  through  some 
words  from  the  children.  His  Lordship  iUustrated  this  fact 
by  a  touching  story  of  a  poor  degraded  woman  whom  none 
could  reach.  Her  language  was  terribly  bad,  and  her  little 
girl  would  plead,  "  Oh,  don't  say  so,  mother !  "  and  would 
begin  to  sing  one  of  her  little  hymns.  The  woman  became 
quite  changed,  and  when  asked  how  it  had  been  brought 
about,  told  the  stoiy,  and  said:  "I  tell  you,  sir,  I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer  I  " 

The  Earl  continued:  Individual  inspection  is  the  secret 
of  your  success.  This  constant  personal  supervision,  this 
contact  with,  and  intimate  knowledge  of,  eacli  child,  is 
absolutely  esseyitial.  My  friends,  should  you  fail  in  this,  your 
work  will  be  a  failure.  What  these  children  have  not,  and 
what  they  need,  is  the  parental  system.  They  have  no 
mothers,  and  they  need,  as  far  as  possible,  to  have  that  want 
supplied. 

But  many  children  can  be  reached  only  by  personal 
visitation  in  their  homes  and  lodgings.  There  is  a  proverb 
which  has  some  truth  in  it  —  "It  takes  a  thief  to  catch 
a  thief."  But  an  expert  policeman  may  also  be  up  to  a  trick 
or  two  in  that  line.  Likewise  there  are  trained  men, 
who  can  catch  an  "  Arab."  Still  it  rc(|uires  considerable 
patience,  acquaintance  with  their  habits,  and  much  ready 
tact,  to  succeed.  The  true  missionary,  estimating  tl  e  value 
of  the  human  soul,  and  knowing  the  power  of  Christ  to  save, 
is  best  (pialiticd  to  deal  with  this  interesting  class  of  our 
fellow-citizens. 


CATCHING    AN    "ARAB. 


CAPTUBING  ARABS.  419 

Dr.  Barnardo,  of  London,  is  an  accomplished  "  Arab  '"- 
hunter.  His  long  and  varied  experience,  his  personal 
interest  in  street  juveniles  amounting  to  a  passion,  and  his 
many-  admirable  qualities  for  the  s[)ecial  work,  give  him  a 
foremost  position  in  the  race.  An  illustration  from  his  own 
pen  of  an  "Arab"'  capture  is  replete  with  interest  and 
furnishes   proof    that  "wisdom    is  profitable  to    direct":  — 

For  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  I  had  adopted,  for  the  better 
extension  of  my  work  among  street  boys,  the  plan  of  spend- 
ing several  nights,  during  the  most  inclement  season  of  the 
year,  in  the  streets  searching  for  homeless  and  destitute 
children  among  what  may  be  well  termed  the  purlieus  of 
the  metropolis.  By  this  means  I  have  been  enabled  to  draw 
from  the  most  squalid  and  poverty-stricken  districts, 
numbers  of  boys  and  girls  to  the  shelter  of  the  institutions 
under  my  care.  There  they  remained  for  periods  varying 
from  a  few  months  to  as  many  years,  going  out  again,  in  a 
large  proportion  of  cases,  thoroughly  equipped  for  the  hard 
battle  of  life. 

In  these  midnight  wanderings  no  resorts  of  tlie  destitute 
have  proved  more  fruitful  hunting-grounds  than  the  connnon 
lodging-houses.  These  "hotels  of  the  poor,"  where  a  bed 
may  l)e  obtained  for  a  trifle,  continually  shelter  thousands  of 
tlie  homeless  and  destitute  class. 

Some  of  these  lodging-houses  are,  I  gladly  admit,  decendy 
conducted,  and  are  frequented  by  the  industrious  section  of 
the  homeless  poor,  casual  dock-laborers,  street  musicians  of 
various  orders,  etc. ;  but  the  greater  number  are  occupied 
only  by  tramps,  and  by  persons  of  immoral  character,  and 
are,  in  fact,  merely  resorts  of  quasi  criminals. 

For  example,  the  prisons  regularly  discharge  each  month, 
on  the  expiration  of  their  sentences,  many  criminals  who  at 
once  find  their  way  to  the  lodging-house   districts  to  frater- 


420  STItEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIBES. 

iiize  with  companionb  perhaps  e(|ually  guilty,  Ijiit  more 
successful  than  they  have  l)een  in  evading  for  a  while  the 
clutches  of  the  law.  It  is  not,  therefore,  difficult  to  under- 
stand that  what  makes  these  lodging-houses  such  utterly 
undesirable  places  of  refuge  for  children  is  that  so  many 
degraded  and  brutalized  persons  find  in  them  a  convenient 
shelter,  thereby  surely  spreading  the  contagion  of  their  own 
awful  example,  to  the  ruin  of  any  innocent  young  life 
brought  within  the  circle  of  their  baleful  influence. 

I  know  of  few  sights  more  calculated  to  quicken  the  zeal 
of  the  philanthropist  than  that  which  may  be  Avitnessed  in  so 
many  of  these  lodging-houses  any  night  of  the  week  between 
eleven  p.  M.  and  two  A.  M.,  when  standing  grouped  around 
the  hre,  or  lying  about  upon  the  benches  in  the  common 
kitchen,  talking,  smoking,  and  idling  away  the  time,  may  be 
seen  bo3's  and  girls  scarcely  beyond  the  age  of  childhood, 
yet  learning  rapidly  from  the  conversation  and  conduct  of 
those  who  are  older  than  themselves,  to  become  hardened  in 
(  the  vices  of  their  seniors.  The  vilest  seed  is  here,  alas!  all 
too  ([uickly  sown,  and  rapidly  bears  fruit  of  the  saddest 
kind. 

During  previous  midnight  rambles,  I  had  frequently 
attempted  to  gain  a  footing  in  tlie  court  where  stood  the 
thieves"  kitchen  :  but  for  a  long  time  without  success.  Once 
or  twice  when  1  ventured  into  the  house,  the  "•  deput}',"* 
]\lichael,  met  me  with  a  sharp  inquiry  as  to  the  nature  of  my 
business,  intimating,  with  much  plainness  of  speech,  that  he 
"  did  n't  want  no  loafers  here,""  and  ''  you  'd  better  make  your- 
self scarce,"  advice  which,  at  the  time,  I  conceived  it  to  be 
wise  to  accept  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  Yet  1  none 
the  less  earnestly  desired  to  become  better  acquainted  with 
the  boys  who  frequented  that  particular  house,  and  to  save 
some  of  them,  if  possible.  No  immediate  })rospect  presented 
itself  of  realizing  luv   wisli.    until  one  night   in  the  winter. 


CAPriUilXG  ABABS.  421 

when  passing  down  the  conrt  to  visit  an  adjoining  lodging- 
house,  I  observed  the  deputy  standing  at  the  door  with  an 
anxious  look,  which  seemed  to  give  place  to  an  expression  of 
satisfaction  as  I  approached. 

The  explanation  was  soon  found.  Somewhat  entreatingly 
he  iiecosted  me  with,  "  I  've  a  sick  feller  'ere ;  I  wish  you  'd 
see  him,  sir.  I'm  'fraid  he  's  got  the  fever."  A  very  serious 
contingency  for  even  such  a  lodging-house  keeper  as  he,  for 
a  bad  ease  of  fever  has  been  known  to  scare  away  the 
lodgers  for  a  week  or  ten  days,  besides  which  the  sanitary 
officer  has  a  very  awkward  manner  of  insisting  upon  complete 
disinfection. 

Delighted  with  the  long-sought  opportunity  thus  opened 
to  me,  I  readily  acquiesced,  and  ]>roceeded  upstairs  to  one  of 
the  large  sleeping-rooms,  in  which  there  were  beds  for  fifty 
or  sixty  lads.  In  a  distant  corner  I  found  a  poor  boy,  fifteen 
years  of  age,  lying  ill  with  all  the  symptoms  of  a  sharp  attack 
of  rheumatic  fever.  When  I  assured  Michael  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  contagion  from  the  lad's  state,  and  added  that 
I  would  Avillingly  attend  him,  and  supply  medicine  without 
charge,  the  deputy  seemed  pleased,  and  my  offer  was  very 
gratefully  accepted. 

From  this  incident  began  a  series  of  regular  visits  —  my 
usual  plan  being  to  call  about  half  past  eight  in  the  evening 
and  remain  chatting  with  my  patient  until  ten  o'clock,  when 
a  few  of  the  other  lads  generally  arrived.  Then  I  went 
down  to  the  kitchen  and  sat  l)y  the  fire  talking  to  the  deputy. 
Thus  I  soon  became  well  acquainted  \x\t\\  the  lads  frequent- 
ing the  house ;  so  much  so,  that  after  a  while  they  came  in 
and  oiit  without  taking  much  notice  of  me,  and  I  was 
quicklv  initiated  into  the  peculiar  methods  of  their  life.  I 
found  that  they  were  all  young  thieves,  and  prosecuted  their 
nefarious  pursuits  under  the  leadership  of  one  lad,  said  to  be 
very  much  the  superior  of  the  others.     This  lad  I  did  not  at 


422  Srr.EET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEIi  SXIPES. 

first  see,  but  I  lieard  extraordinary  stories  of  Jus  udroituess, 
and  the  boys  all  seemed  proud  of  their  leader. 

These  lads  were  for  the  most  part  robbers  of  stalls  or  cheap 
shops  outside  of  which  goods  were  exposed  for  sale.  Others 
were  pickpockets,  and  these  were  more  frequently  in  danger 
of  beino;  caught.  The  goods  obtained  in  these  ways  wqvq 
disposed  of  without  much  difficulty,  but  the  boj^s  generally 
held  a  kind  of  Dutch  auction  for  the  disposal  of  edible  spoil 
in  an  adjacent  lodging-house,  the  occupants  of  which  were 
only  too  glad  to  buy  food  at  a  greatly  reduced  price.  I 
have  seen  chops,  steaks,  fowl,  oranges,  vegetables,  and  other 
eatables  put  up  for  auction,  and  sold  for  perhaps  one  tenth  of 
their  real  value. 

It  may  be  imagined  ho\y,  during  my  visits  to  this^  house,  I 
took  many  occasions  of  remonstrating  privately  and  quietly, 
as  opportunity  offered,  with  the  lads  upon  their  evil  life,  and 
I  know  that  permanent  inqiressions  were  made  in  some 
minds.  Most  of  the  boys  began  also  to  look  with  eagerness, 
when  I  came,  for  the  usual  reading  aloud  of  some  pleasant 
book.  This  became  a  regular  feature  of  my  visit,  and 
especially  after  my  young  j)atient  was  convalescent,  and  able 
to  receive  me  seated  at  the  fire  in  the  kitchen.  My  visits 
were  gradually  delayed  until  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock,  when 
I  was  always  sure  of  having  a  larger  audience.  It  was  a 
curious  sight  to  bt-hold  the  lads  on  such  occasions  grouped  in 
various  attitudes  around  the  fire,  some  lyiug  on  the  floor, 
but  all  with  their  faces  turned  to  me  Avith  marked  interest 
as  I  read  aloiul  from '' I'ucle  Tom's  Cabin."  and  afterwards 
Bunvan's  "  Pilgrim's  Progress.*" 

One  night,  having  arrived  someAvhat  later  tlian  usual.  I 
observed  in  front  of  the  fire,  toasting  a  herring  on  a  Avire 
fork,  a  lad  very  indike  the  other  denizens  of  the  place. 
Singularly  good-looking,  with  a  bright,  full  eye,  the  boy  had 
a    countenance     on    which    candor    and    honesty    seemed 


CAPTUIilXG  ABABS.  423 

impressed.  A  fearless,  or  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  written 
audacious,  expression  swept  at  times  over  his  face,  and  gave 
him  a  spirited  appearance,  the  attraction  of  which  few  conid 
resist. 

That  which  seemed  to  me  the  most  noticeable  thing  about 
the  lad  was  the  entire  absence  of  a  peculiar  expression  which 
was  so  manifest  in  the  faces  of  all  the  other  boys.  I  refer 
to  the  furtive  glance  of  tlie  eye  and  nervous  twitching  of  the 
corners  of  the  mouth,  which  is  symptomatic  of  the  young 
professional  thief.  I  have  called  this  "  the  thief-look,^''  as  I 
have  seldom  found  any  case  in  which  young  persons  give 
way  to  habits  of  deliberate  and  long-continued  dishonesty 
without  acquiring  this  expression,  In  older  persons  the 
nervous  twitching  of  the  mouth  disappears,  and  gives  place 
to  another  and  firmer  cast  of  countenance  which  is  equally 
expressive  in  its  way,  but  the  furtive  glances  of  the  eye 
remain.* 

I  was  therefore  much  surprised  to  observe  that  tliis  par- 
ticular lad,  so  perfectly  at  home  in  this  thieves'  kitchen,  and 
on  snch  manifestly  intimate  terms  with  its  occupants,  was 
not  only  destitute  of  anything  approaching  "  the  thief-look," 
but  was  really  a  very  fine  open-faced  young  fellow.  My 
surprise  was  increased  when  I  noticed  that  his  conversation 
was  rather  worse  than  that  of  the  others,  and  plainly 
revealed  him  to  be,  like  them,  an  experienced  thief. 

"Who  is  he?"  I  asked  my  young  convalescent,  in  an 
undertone. 

*  In  illusti'atiou  of  this  I  may  state  that  ou  one  occasion  being  in  Glasgow,  I  was 
inviteil  to  visit  a  reformatory  by  a  magistrate  at  whose  house  I  was  stopping.  Picking 
out  some  twenty-four  boys  from  a  much  larger  number,  he  asked  me  privately  to  give 
him  my  opinion  of  them.  After  a  little  talk  on  general  subjects  with  each,  during 
which  I  closely  scrutinized  their  attitu<le  and  appearance,  I  selected  six  from  the 
others,  and  told  my  host  that  under  no  circumstances  ought  these  lads  in  my  judgment 
to  be  trusted.  Of  the  others  I  expressed  a  difficulty  in  saying  anything  Mithout  know- 
ing the  facts  concerning  them.  He  reported  what  I  ha<l  said  to  the  superintendent,  and 
I  was  not  surprised  when  the  latter  replied  that  I  had  isolated  half  a  dozen  of  the  moiti 
hopeless  ijoiniff  thieves  he  liail  in  a  large  institution,  containing  then  nearly  two  hundre<l. 
So  much  for  tlie  index  of  chara'-ter  which  "  the  thief-look"  conveys.  —  r>r.  Darnardo. 


424  STIiEET  AnABS  AXD  (4UTTER  SNIPES. 

"Don't  you  kno^v?""  was  the  aiuused  rejoinder,  -Ma'Iiv, 
that  *s  Punch,"' 

"  What !  tliat  boy  Punch  ?  Re  the  leader  of  you  all  ?  He 
the  lad  who  plans  most  of  the  robberies  here  ?     Impossible  I " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  pronounced  nod  of  the  head, 
while  a  look  of  something  like  pride  in  his  leader  passed 
over  the  boy's  face,  "that's  Punch,  sure  enough,  and  there 
ain't  a  cleverer  than  'ira  anywheres  in  London." 

I  confessed  myself  utterly  baffled.  Here  was  a  boy  having 
as  frank  a  countenance  as  one  could  wish  to  meet  among 
young  lads  of  any  class  in  life,  and  his  whole  manner  indeed 
being,  until  he  began  to  talk,  that  of  the  most  virtuous 
person  imaginable  I  I  need  hardly  add  that  this  information, 
while  it  sur})rised  me,  made  me  intensely  anxious  to  learn 
all  I  could  about  this  ringleader  boy,  but  my  patient  could 
or  would  tell  me  nothing,  except  that  "  Punch  had  always 
been  there,  long  before  I  came,"  that  "  he  'd  never  been 
caught,"  and  that  he  "didn't  think  there  was  a  'Bobb}^' 
clever  enough  to  catch  Hm.'"'  It  was  evident  that  if  I  wanted 
further  information  I  must  apply  to  headquarters ;  so,  joining 
in  the  conversation,  I  gradually  learned  from  his  own  lips 
a  good  deal  of  the  recent  doings  of  tlie  invincible  "  Punch." 

From  the  moment  I  first  saw  him,  the  project  was  formed 
in  my  mind  to  do  what  lay  in  my  power  to,  save  him  from 
the  evil  life  he  had  entered  on,  but  how  to  l)egin  I  knew 
not.  I  could  only  feel  that  I  must  be  very  wary,  and  wait 
patiently  until  a  fitting  opportunity  arose  to  make  the 
attempt;  l)ut  1  was  singularly  assisted  tliat  very  first 
evening  by  Puncli  himself.  I  was  reading  for  tlie  second 
or  third  time  the  story  of  Uncle  Tom,  and  had  come  to  that 
part  where  Eliza's  escape  with  her  child  over  the  semi-frozen 
River  Ohio  is  described.  None  listened  with  deeper  interest 
than  Punch,  and  when  I  closed  the  liook  he  looked  at  it 
with  a  sigh,  and  made  a  remark  to  the  effect  that,  "  Who'd 


CAPTUBINCi  AliABS.  425 

think  there  was  such  splendid  stuff  in  a  little  bit  of  a  book 
like  that  ?  " 

This  led  to  my  telling  my  audience  something  about 
books,  their  wonderful  smallness,  and  the  stores  of  informa- 
tion and  interest  that  they  opened  to  all  who  could  read 
them.  To  my  delight  I  found  that  Punch,  who  could  not 
read,  had  a  very  strong  desire  to  learn.  He  had  picked  up 
a  letter  or  two  in  the  streets  from  posters,  or  from  the  names 
over  the  doors  of  shops,  and  could  spell  a  few  simple  words, 
but  failed  to  advance  beyond  this.  Looking  at  the  lad's 
intelligent  and  expressive  countenance,  I  suggested  tliat 
it  would  be  easy  enough  for  him  to  learn  to  read,  if  he  but 
applied  his  mind  to  it.  To  this  he  replied  that  he  could  not 
afford  it,  being  unable  to  spare  the  time. 

"  Why  not  ?  "     I  asked. 

" 'Ow  am  I  to  live,  I  wants  to  know?  What '11  become  of 
my  work  ?     Eh  !  " 

"•Oh!"  I  said;  "  that  need  be  no  difiiculty.  I  can  easily 
get  you  admission  to  a  Home  where  you  will  be  given  food 
and  lodging  free  of  charge  while  you  are  learning  —  that  is, 
if  you  care  to  go." 

But  this  proposition  was  not  relished,  so  the  subject  for  a 
time  dropped,  as  I  was  far  too  experienced  in  such  cases  to 
appear  eager  to  press  it.  As,  however,  I  found  that  Punch 
always  returned  at  night  later  than  any  one  else,  I  contrived 
that  my  visits  were  in  future  made  at  a  later  hour.  By  this 
means  we  became  better  acquainted,  and  I  ever  found  him 
anxious  that  I  sliould  begin  reading  as  soon  as  I  arrived. 
Punch  generally  wound  up  by  renewing  his  former  expres- 
sions of  desire  to  learn  to  read,  and  by  lamenting  the 
difficulties  in  his  way.  I  think  he  wanted  me  to  propose 
tliat  I  would  give  him  a  few  lessons  during  my  visits,  but  I 
had  no  intention  of  doing  this.  Myoljject  was  to  get  Punch 
away  from   that  house,  and  from  Ins  present  evil  ways,  if  I 


426  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

could,  and  to  elucidate  some  of  the  mystery  that  seemed  to 
be  hanging  about  the  lad.     At  length  one  niglit  he  said  :  — 

'•  I  say,  mister,  how  long  d'  ye  think  it  *d  take  a  chap  to 
learn  to  vq-ai1  fust-rate?  ^'' 

"  If  you  ^vere  to  thro^y  your  whole  mind  into  it,  as  you  do 
now  into  other  things,"  I  answered,  "  I  have  no  doubt.  Punch, 
you  could  learn  to  read  in  ten  months  or  a  year." 

His  countenance  fell. 

"  That's  a  long  time  to  wait,"  he  rejoined. 

''But  you  know,  my  lad,  we  cannot  learn  anything,  or 
attain  success  in  any  direction,  without  an  effort,  and  most 
things  require  prolonged  effort  before  we  are  successful." 

Punch  mused  for  a  bit,  and  then  looking  round  the  kitchen 
hastih',  he  said  to  me,  in  a  lower  tone :  — 

"  I  s'pose  if  I  went  to  that  'ere  'ome  o"  yours,  it  'd  be  most 
as  bad  as  a  reglar  prison." 

''Whateyer  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  *"  I  know  in  them  kind  o'  places  3'er 
can't  do  as  3"er  like,  or  go  in  and  out ;  they  locks  the  doors 
on  yer,  and  there  y'  are  stuck  fast." 

"Even  that  would  be  no  very  great  hardship,"'  I  answered, 
"if  they  are  kind  to  you  while  you  remain,  and  only  keep 
you  sufficiently  long  to  teach  you  to  read,  and  perhaps  also 
a  good  trade.  You  cannot  be  in  two  places  at  once  ;  and  it 
cannot  matter  much,  if  you  are  well  employed,  whether  you 
have  your  liberty  to  roam  the  streets  or  not." 

Yet  Punch  seemed  unconyineed. 

'•  What  J  want  to  know  is,"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  while 
his  clear  eyes  revealed  the  suspicion  he  felt.  "  can  a  feller  go 
wlien  he  likes?  I  mean  at  the  end  o'  the  time  that  he  says 
he'll  stop  for?  I  don't  Avant  none  of  yer  'formatory 
dodges." 

"Certainly,"  I  rejoined;  "'if  you  say  you  will  come  to  my 
Home  for  a  year,  at  the  end  of  the  year  I  will  let  you  go  ;  or 


CAPTUBING  ARABS.  427 

if  you  say  you  will  come  until  you  have  learned  to  read  well, 
I  will  let  you  go  as  soon  as  ever  you  can  read ;  but,"  I  added, 
in  a  firm  voice,  "  I  could  not  take  you  at  all  unless  you 
promised  on  3'our  honor  to  remain  faithfully  during  the  whole 
time  agreed  upon/' 

"  Oh,  tliat  's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  'd  stop  if  I  once 
promised  it.  I  am  a  bad  one,  I  knoAvs ;  but  no  feller  about 
'ere  can  say  as  I  don't  stick  to  my  word." 

Punch  said  no  more  then,  but  a  few  nights  after,  lieing 
alone  with  him,  he  announced  somewhat  suddenly,  during 
a  short   pause,  his  intention. 

"  Look  'ere,  guv'nor,  I  don't  mind  what  they  says  about 
a  chap  ;  I  '11  go  if  yer  '11  promise  me  fair  that  I  may  leave  in 
a  year's  time,  whether  I  've  learned  to  read  or  not.  I  've 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  with  yer  straight  off,  if  yev 
promises." 

It  may  be  imagined  with  what  pleasure  I  closed  with  this 
offer.  Punch  and  I  shook  hands  over  the  bargain.  I  stipu- 
lated further  that  during  the  year  he  was  to  be  Avith  me,  he 
would  not  visit  the  lodging-house  or  communicate  with  any  of 
his  old  companions.  To  this  Punch  assented  after  a  little 
hesitation.  Accordingly  he  promised  to  "  look  me  up  "  the 
next  morning. 

With  not  a  little  fear  and  trembling,  I  awaited  his  visit  in 
my  room.  Realizing  on  one  hand  my  own  utter  inability  to 
effect  any  permanent  cliange  in- this  poor  lad,  who  had  been 
a  thief  so  long,  I  felt  on  the  other  hand  deeply  persuaded 
that  unless  by  God's  grace  the  result  of  liis  stay  in  our  house 
was  to  change  his  heart.  Punch  would  perhaps  be  really  the 
worse  for  the  education  which  I  had  now  pledged  myself  to 
give  him,  —  fori  had  long  since  found  by  experience  that, 
all  other  things  Ijeing  equal,  an  educated  thief  is  more 
dangerous  than  an  ignorant  one.  However,  having  first 
earnestly  besought  the  Lord's    help,   I  laid    myself   out    to 


/' 


428  STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

arrange  plans  for  Puncirs  welfare.  No  one  in  the  Home  had, 
or  would  have,  the  least  knowledge  of  his  past  history.  If 
he  knew  that  others  Avere  acquainted  with  his  career,  it 
would  probably  become  a  subject  of  common  conversation 
between  him  and  them.  His  own  mind  would  thus  be 
directed  to  things  which  it  was  desirable  he  should  forget. 
By  constantly  talking  and  bragging  about  his  sinful  life  he 
might  even  become  hardened  in  evil.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
his  conscience  became  aroused,  there  would  be  a  risk,  if  others 
knew  his  story,  of  his  being  reproached  with  his  past 
misdoings,  and  in  a  moment  of  despair  he  might  give  up 
attempts  after  amendment.  Tlie  sequel  of  this  lad's  story 
will  show  what  grounds  I  had  for  snch  fears. 

I  made  Punch  himself  promise  positively  that,  from  the 
moment  he  entered  our  Home,  he  would  never  speak  to  any 
one  except  to  me  of  his  past  life.  In  a  surprised  kind  of 
way  he  acquiesced  in  this. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  I  contrived  to  have  Punch  as 
much  about  me  as  possible.  At  first  he  went  to  school  for 
half  the  day,  spending  the  other  half  day  at  work  in  one  of 
the  tradesmen's  shops.  He  chose  the  bootshop.  There  he 
found  a  lad  with  whom  he  quickly  struck  up  an  acquaint- 
ance. They  became  inseparable  companions,  and  were  con- 
tinually to  be  seen  together.  Sometimes,  when  I  was  alone, 
and  had  work  to  do  in  my  private  room,  I  summoned  Punch 
to  help  me  in  little  jobs  of  lifting  or  putting  things  away, 
generally  contriving  to  turn  the  couA^ersation  wyiow  himself 
and  his/future  prospects.  It  was  in  this  way  that  his  sad 
story,  to  be  presently  told,  was  elicited,  and  thus  I  found 
how  a  poor  homeless  boy  in  London,  without  any  previous 
vicious  training,  may  be  made  a  thief  by  the  intluejice  and 
example  of  others,  to  which  are  added  the  stern  teachings  of 
cold  and  hunger. 

As  to  his  conduct  in  the   Home,  I   was  informed  that  at 


CAPTURING  ABABS.  429 

first  Punch  was  very  restless  at  morning  and  evening  prayer, 
but  soon  l)egan  to  sIioav  interest  in  the  Bible  stories  which 
wei'e  read.  One  day,  while  he  was  in  ray  room,  he  was 
boasting  of  his  skill  in  robbery,  how  he  had  never  once  been 
caught,  and  how  cleverly  lie  had  evaded  several  attempts 
which  had  l^een  made  to  capture  him.  Much  of  what  he 
said  seemed  to  me  incredible.  Wishing  to  discourage  his 
tendency  to  exaggeration,  I  expressed  in  a  strong  way  my 
disbelief  of  a  particular  statement  he  made.  Punch  looked 
at  me  with  a  curious  expression  in  his  face,  and  the  subject 
droppjed  for  a  time.  In  about  twenty  minutes  afterward  he 
asked  me  if  I  Avould  tell  him  what  o'clock  it  was.  As  a 
clock  was  in  the  room,  I  thought  the  request  odd. 

"  Can't  you  see  the  clock  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  his  reply ;  '^  but  I  want  yer  to  tell  me  by 
yer  own  watch." 

Putting  my  hand  in  my  pocket,  1  found,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, my  watch  was  not  there.  I  looked  at  Punch,  over 
whose  face  a  laugh  crept. 

"  Try  yer  other  pockets,  sir,''  he  said. 

I  found  that  my  keys,  my  purse,  my  handkerchief,  pencil, 
and  knife  had  disappeared  —  everything  was  gone  —  my 
pockets  were  literally  turned  inside  out.  Yet  I  had  never 
felt  the  young  scamp  near  me,  nor  do  I  to  this  day  know 
how  he  contrived  to  clear  me  out.  I  looked  at  him  somewhat 
sternly,  fearing  that  all  this  showed  a  tendency  to  return  to 
his  old  ways. 

"  All  right,  sir,"  he  replied,  in  a  conciliatory  tone,  "  I  ain't 
done  you  no  'arm,  there  they  are,''  and  he  pointed  to  the 
writing-table  where  I  had  been  sitting,  on  the  corner  of 
which,  covered  by  a  large  sheet  of  blotting-paper,  were  all 
my  possessions,  which  he  liad  quietly  eased  jue  of  without 
my  being  conscious  of  the  operation,  merely  to  show  me  that 
his  statements,  which  1  had  thought  were  exaggerations, 
were  not  beyond  the  truth. 


430  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

"  Well,  Puneli,"  I  said,  "  although  you  have  uow  succeeded 
in  taking  all  these  things  from  me,  yet  I  hope  that  if  you 
left  here  to-morrow  you  would  not  return  to  your  old  life 
as  a  thief."' 

"  Why  not  ? "  the  lad  asked,  as  I  thought  somewhat 
impudently. 

"Why  not.  Punch?  because  I  should  tiiink  you  would  be 
ashamed  of  living  such  a  life." 

"Well,  I  aint,  —  there,"  he  rejoined,  in  audacious  tones. 

"  But  do  you  really  mean.  Punch,  that  you  never  feel  now 
what  a  bad  and  shameful  thing  it  is  to  be  a  tliief  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  I  don't — leastways,"'  he  added  slowly,  "/  do 
sometimes."' 

Now,  thought  I,  here  is  a  chance  —  tlie  lad  is  surely 
beginning  to  realize  the  evil  of  his  career ;  and  I  added : 
"  Well,  Punch,  I  am  glad  that  even  sometimes  you  feel  it  to 
be  wrong;  but  I  should  have  imagined  that  after  you  had 
been  in  this  house,  and  seen  the  kind  of  life  avc  all  lead,  and 
the  pleasure  of  working  hard  for  your  bread,  and  the  comfort 
of  it  too,  you  would  have  soon  become  ashamed  of  being 
only  a  thief.  But  tell  me,  when.,  in  your  opinion,  is  it  a  bad 
thing  to  be  a  thief  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his 
eye  at  having  fairly  trapped  me,  '•  I  think  it 's  werry  bad  when 
you  get  caught !  " 

Almost  in  despair  I  asked  myself;  Is  it  possible  that  this 
is  the  only  idea  the  lad  has  of  the  wrong  of  dishonesty  — 
when  he  is  found  out  ?  or  can  this  be  mere  bravado  ?  I  felt, 
however,  that  the  occasion  must  not  be  passed  by,  and  I 
continued  to  point  out,  as  strongly  as  I  could,  hoAv  wicked 
such  a  life  was,  how  that  it  must  surely  bring  God's  aRger 
and  judgment  upon  those  who  pursued  it.  I  urged  upon 
him,  l)y  ever}-  consideration,  to  at  once  abandon  all  thought 
of  resuming  his  dishonest  life,  and  to  take  advantage  of  his 


CATCHimi  ARABS.  431 

stay  in  the  Home  to  acquire  a  means  of  earning  his  bread,  so 
that  when  he  left,  after  liaving  learnt  to  read,  he  might  not 
have  to  resort  to  his  former  ways.  The  lad  listened  with 
indifference. 

"Moreover,"  I  added,  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  room, 
"remember  thLs,  Punch :  if  James,"  referring  to  the  lad  with 
whom  he  had  formed  a  close  and  affectionate  companionship 
since  he  had  entered  the  Home,  "knew  that  you  were  a  thief, 
he  would  never  speak  to  you  again ;  and  if  the  foreman  of 
the  bootshop  supposed  you  were  a  thief  and  a  companion 
of  thieves^  he  would  ask  me  not  to  allow  you  to  sit  in  his 
workshop  any  longer ;  and  so  it  would  be  throughout  your 
life,  ho7iest  men  and  bot/s  loould   ever  shun  your   company.'''' 

To  my  surprise  I  saw  that  what  I  had  said  about  his 
companion's  probable  feelings  touched  him  in  some  unac- 
countable manner,  which  I  did  not  then  understand.  The 
lad  appeared  confused,  turned  first  red  and  then  got  very 
pale ;  his  eyes  fell  before  my  glance,  and,  without  making 
any  reply,  he  took  the  first  opportunity  of  shuffling  out 
of  the  room.  I  could  but  lift  my  heart  to  God,  earnestly 
asking  him  to  save  this  poor  misguided  young  fellow  from 
his  evil  ways. 

A  few  days  passed,  during  which  I  scarcely  saw  Punch,, 
when  suddenly  one  evening,  whilst  writing  in  my  room, 
I  was  interrupted  by  a   knock  at  the   door. 

"Come  in,"  I  said.  The  door  ojoened  and  Punch  stood 
before  me,  his  eyes  red  with  weeping,  and  his  face  bearing 
traces  of  his  having  recently  endured  a  co)iflict  of  passion. 
His  first  words  were  :  — 

"I  Avant  to  go  out  of  this  'ome, — ^ there's  an  end  of  it." 

"But  surely,  Punch,  \o\\  remember  your  promise:  you 
told  me  you  would  remain  a  year,  you  have  now  only  Ijeen 
here  five  or  six  weeks ;  something  must  be  wrong ;  come 
here  and  tell  me  what  it  is." 


432  STBEET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

'•  1  don't  Avant  to  tell  jon  notliink,"  replied  the  lad,  angrily. 
*'I  'm  determined  to  go,  that 's  an  end  t)f  it ;  and  if  yer  won't 
let  me  go,  I  '11  run  away,"  and  then  he  broke  down  and  gave 
way  to  a  storm  of  weeping. 

I  felt  there  was  some  great  trouble  on  the  boy's  mind, 
so,  getting  up,  I  placed  my  hand  kindly  on  his  shoulder  and 
said :  "  Come,  Punch,  you  knoAV  I  am  your  friend ;  tell  me 
all  about  it." 

Shaking  my  hand  off  rudely,  he  replied:  ''  I  tell  yer  I  mean 
to  (/o.     You  've  been  a-blowin'  on  me." 

'•  What  do  you  mean.  Punch  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yer  have,  and  yer  know  yer  have,  and  it 's  mean, 
that 's  what  it  is  ;  and  yer  asked  me  to  say  nothink  about 
it,  and  yer  've  been  tellin'  everybody  yerself,  and  I  mean  to 
cut  the  whole  thing." 

"Punch,  I  insist  upon  your  telling  me  what  is  the  matter. 
I  don't  understand  one  word  you  say.  If  you  think  I  have 
mentioned  anything  of  your  story  to  anybody  in  the  house, 
you  are  quite  wrong.  AVhat  do  you  mean  by  what  you  liave 
said  ?  " 

Then  the  lad  explained  tliat  he  and  his  companion,  James, 
had  had  a  quarrel  about  some  trivial  matter  in  the  yard. 
James  l)ecame  angry  with  him,  and  in  the  heat  of  woixls  had 
called  him  "a  thief."  There  had  been  a  time  when  this 
epithet  would  have  only  evoked  a  laugh,  but  my  recent 
conversation  with  him  had  produced  fruit.  Pmich's  con- 
science had  been  aivakened  for  the  first  time.  Now,  having 
been  called  a  thief  by  one  whose  favor  and  goodwill  he 
coveted,  he  felt,  as  he  had  never  done  before,  the  shame  of 
it,  and  with  that  came  the  thought  that  I  had  wronged  him 
by  divulging  his  story.  So  he  had  hurried  from  the  scene 
of  his  pnssiouat(>  encountei-  with  James,  to  demand  his 
dismissal. 

I  need  hardlv  say  that  I  did  my  best  to  (piiet  his  mind  by 


CAPTUBING  AliABS.  433 

assuring  him  solemnly  that  I  had  never  mentioned  the 
matter,  nor  indeed  sjjoken  of  him  to  any  one  in  the  house ; 
that  probably  James  had  said  this  quite  thoughtlessly,  and 
without  any  knowledge  of  his  past  life.  As  the  lad  became 
quieter  under  my  words,  I  added  :  — 

"  You  see,  Punch,  this  shows  you  how  wrong  your  former 
ways  have  been.  If  it  is  so  disagreeable  to  you  to  be  called 
a  thief,  how  much  worse  is  it  to  he  one  ?  and  you  know,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  have  been  this  now  for  some  years,  and 
unless  you  at  once  resolve  to  leave  that  shameful  life,  and  to 
give  yourself  to  honest  pursuits,  you  will  be  branded  while 
you  live  with  the  horrible  name  which,  I  am  glad  to  see,  you 
now  dislike,  and  honest  men  and  boys  will  always  avoid 
you." 

The  boy  was  inexpressibly  touched.  Now  I  felt  was  my 
opportunity.  Conscience,  hitherto  dormant,  was  a  powerful 
advocate  within  his  heart  of  the  truth  of  all  I  said;  and 
when,  with  my  arm  around  the  weeping  lad's  neck,  I  gently 
whispered :  "  Punch,  shall  we  ask  God  to  give  you  a  new 
heart,  and  to  take  away  the  wicked  desires  j^ou  have,  and  to 
forgive  you  for  the  past?"  he  assented,  with  a  subdued 
sob.  Having  fastened  the  door,  we  both  knelt  down  in  that 
little  room,  and  I  believe  never  was  a  more  sincere  and 
penitent  prayer  offered  than  that  which  came  from  that  poor 
boy's  heart  as  he  knelt  b}*  my  side.  lie  rose  comforted,  and 
I  arranged  that  every  afternoon  he  should  come  up  to  ni}' 
room  for  a  little  reading  and  prayer,  and  I  then  dismissed 
him,  rejoicing  in  my  heart  at  the  goodness  of  God  in  having 
so  soon  blessed  the  seed  which  had  been  sown.  I  uoav  could 
look  forward  with  some  degree  of  hope  to  the  time  when 
Punch  would  be  a  decided  follower  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour, 
and  when  he  would  know  by  experience  the  power  of  those 
words :  "  If  any  man  be  in  Christ  he  is  a  new  creature :  old 
things  are  passed  away." 


434  STBEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEE  SNIPES. 

This,  liowever,  was  not  to  be  quite  yet  or  all  at  once, 
although  there  was  a  gradual  and  decided  change  from  that 
very  hour  noticed  in  the  lad's  life.  Nothing  could  be  more 
marked  than  his  persistent  attempts  to  conquer  his  temper, 
Avhicli  was  always  passionate  and  fiery.  Moreover,  Punch 
made  great  progress  at  school,  rapidly  acquiring  the  ele- 
ments of  education,  and  soon  became  able  to  read  with  great 
facility.  I  promised  him  a  liible  with  a  clasp  for  his  very 
own  when  he  could  read,  and  also  a  copy  of  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin."  With  great  delight  I  handed  Punch  these  at  the 
end  of  his  seventh  month  of  residence  in  the  house. 

Very  ([uiet  and  unobtrusive  in  his  manner,  Punch  soon 
became  a  steady  help  to  the  masters  in  the  Home,  exercising 
great  influence  over  the  other  bovs.  That  influence  was 
always  on  the  side  of  good.  Perhaps  this  would  liave  been 
explained,  if  you  had  gone  to  the  little  shelf  near  his  bed, 
and  looked  at  the  Bible  which  I  had  given  him,  which  bore 
evident  marks  of  being  diligently  read.  There  were  other 
evidences,  too,  which  assured  me  long  before  his  time  expired 
that  Punch  had  sought  and  found  that  forgiveness  which  a 
loviuCT  Saviour  extends  to  all  who  trust  him. 

By  the  way,  here  I  may  explain  what  I  have  already 
referred  to  as  so  puzzling  an  exception  in  his  case,  —  I  mean 
the  absence  of  ''  the  thief-look  *'  in  this  lad,  and  the  retention 
of  such  an  open,  candid  expression  of  countenance,  although 
he  had  been  long  living  a  dishonest  life.  In  all  probability 
"the  thief-look"  is  brought  al^out  somewhat  in  this  way: 
conscience.,  when  outraged,  as  it  almost  always  is  by  persist- 
ent wrong-doing,  revenges  itself,  so  to  speak,  by  stamjjing 
upon  the  countenance  traces  of  those  guilty  fears  realized  by 
persons  living  in  constant  danger  of  detection.  In  Punch's 
case  conscience  had,  I  firndy  believe,  never  before  been 
aroused  at  all.  He  had  had  no  j)revious  teaching  or  instruc- 
tion of  any  kind  as   to  the   right  or  wrong  of  his   course. 


CAPTURING  ARABS.  435 

This,  with  the  adventuresome  character  of  his  life,  its  free- 
dom from  restraint,  tlie  wild  rule  he  exercised  over  his  young 
companions,  together  witli  the  remarkable  success  and 
impunity  from  arrest  Avhich  he  had  enjoyed,  all  served^  to 
invest  his  deeds  with  a  halo  of  false  glory  very  captivating 
to  a  lad  of  such  a  temperament ;  and  it  was  only  when 
under  the  influences  and  quietly  continued  teachings  of  the 
Home,  and  the  affectionate  companionship  he  had  formed 
with  the  lad  James,  that  conscience  began  to  assert  itself. 

Punch  remained  in  the  Home  for  a  considerable  time, 
steadily  continuing  to  do  well,  and  advancing  in  favor  with 
all  the  masters  and  his  companions.  He  became  a  really 
excellent  bootmaker,  devoting  himself  with  unwearied 
diligence  to  his  work,  for  it  need  hardly  be  said  that  when 
the  year  had  expired.  Punch  had  no  wish  to  leave,  but 
entreated  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  remain. 

Thus  about  three  years  passed  rapidly,  until  he  had  grown 
into  a  fine,  handsome,  well-made  youth,  fulfilling  all  the 
promise  of  his  boyhood.  When  he  had  been  with  me  about 
three  years  and  four  or  five  months,  I  was  asked  by  the 
superintendent  of  a  small  kindred  institution,  if  I  could 
recommend  a  young  fellow  as  a  bootmaker  to  teach  about 
fifteen  lads  in  their  Home  how  to  mend  their  own  boots. 
The  managers  of  the  institution  in  question  were  not  able  to 
afford  a  large  wage,  as  they  did  not  at  present  aspire  to  make 
their  boots,  but  only  to  doing  the  repairs  and  keeping  their 
lads  usefully  employed.  "  Perhaps,  by-and-by,"  the  superin- 
tendent added,  "  w"e  may  attempt  to  manufacture  our  own." 

I  replied  that  I  thought  I  could  let  him  have  a  lad  who  had 
done  exceedingly  well  in  our  Home,  and  who  would,  I  felt 
sure,  be  quite  competent  to  make,  as  well  as  to  mend,  the 
boots  and  shoes  for  the  inmates  of  his  Home.  This  led  to 
further  correspondence,  and  eventually  he  offered  to  take  the 
lad  at  once.     I  went  immediately  with  this  letter  to  the  shoe- 


436  STIiEET  AliABS  AND  (iUTTER  SNIPES. 

maker's  shop,  and  called  out  Punch.  I  read  its  contents  to 
him,  and  suggested  that  he  should  take  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  of  beginning  for  himself.  To  ni}"  pleased  sur- 
prise the  lad's  ej^es  filled  Avith  tears,  and  he  said :  "  T  am 
sorry,  sir,  you  want  to  get  rid  of  me." 

''No,  my  lad,  I  do  not ;  l)ut  it  is  for  your  advantage  that 
you  should  go ; "  and  then  I  explained  to  him  that  as  he  had 
received  the  benefit  of  the  Home  for  three  years,  and  was 
now  able  to  earn  his  I) read,  it  was  only  right  that  he  should 
give  place  to  some  other  lad.  I  pointed  out  that  his  going 
would  enable  me  to  i)ut  some  other  boy  who  had  been  as 
unfortunate  as  himself  in  a  similar  position.  Moreover,  I 
showed  him  that  by  his  going  to  this  situation,  and  doing 
well,  he  would  bring  credit,  and  perhaps  assistance,  to  our 
Home,  and  in  tliat  way  reward  me  for  the  trouble  and 
expense  he  had  at  first  cost. 

With  a  grateful  smile,  Punch  replied :  "  I  am  ready  to  go, 
sir,  whenever  you  like,  and  I  will  do  my  best." 

Arrangements  were  speedily  made,  and  Punch  left  me, 
clad  in  a  suit  of  (|uiet  working-clothes.  I  heard  from  him 
occasionally ;  he  fulfilled  all  my  expectations ;  his  prayerful, 
quiet,  unassuming  conduct  elicited  admiration  and  respect ; 
and  soon  he  wrote  to  me  to  say  that  his  employer  was 
so  pleased  with  the  pi-ogress  he  had  made,  that  he  had 
advanced  his  wages. 

Perhaps  another  year  or  two  passed  away,  during  which 
Punch  paid  me  occasional  a  isits.  At  length  I  received  an 
announcement  for  which  I  was  devoutly  thankful.  The  lad 
had  found  out  that  it  Avas  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,  and 
resolved  upon  making  the  experiment  of  matrimony, 
enclosing  for  my  acceptance  his  oaahi  photograph  and  the 
photogra[)h  of  her  Avhom  I  must  here  call  ''Mrs.  Pmich." 
No  one  could  possibly  haA'e  recognized  in  the  fine-looking, 
Avell-dressed,    res2)ectable    young    man,    Avhose    carte-de-visite 


CAPTURING  ARABS.  437 

lay  on  my  table,  the  young  fellow  whom  I  had  taken  out  of 
the  thieves'  lodging-house  a  few  years  before. 

But  how  had  he  become  a  thief?  Punch  has  answered 
this  question  in  somewhat  the  following  manner:  He  never 
remembered  his  father  or  mother.  He  had  been  brought 
up  in  the  workhouse,  from  which  he  ran  away  at  an  early 
age,  living  upon  the  streets,  begging,  running  errands,  selling 
matches  or  other  oddments,  doing  what  he  could,  as  he  said, 
to  pick  up  a  living.  But  he  found  it  very  hard  to  keep 
body  and  s<nd  together.  At  length,  when  about  twelve 
years  of  age,  he  had,  during  a  miserably  cold  season,  fared 
particularly  bad,  days  often  passing  without  his  breaking- 
fast,  and  without  having  the  means  to  obtain  a  shelter. 
Thus,  cold  and  hungry,  he  trod  the  merciless  streets  at 
night,  lying  down  where  he  could,  to  snatch  such  rest  as  he 
might,  disturbed  by  fears  of  the  police.  Day  after  day 
passed  in  this  manner,  until  one  evening,  being  near  a  rail- 
way-station, he  had  a  job  which  brought  him  a  few  pennies. 
Some  of  these  he  spent  in  food,  the  remainder  he  treasured 
for  a  lodging.  Reaching  the  place  where  he  occasionally 
slept,  he  paid  his  money  and  went  to  bed.  He  found 
the  room  already  pretty  well  filled  with  boys  like  himself, 
who  were  talking  of  their  life  upon  the  streets,  and  amusing 
each  other  with  stories  of  adventure.  Next  to  him  in  the 
large  dormitory  lay  a  lad  who  kept  all  the  boys  in  his. 
immediate  neighborhood  alive  with  laughter  and  merriment. 
He  was  fat  and  well  fed,  and  had  not  apparently  a  care  on. 
his  mind.  Poor  Punch  listened  to  his  merry  stories  with 
amazement.  When  the  morning  came,  foggy  and  dismal, 
the  latter  rose  at  the  usual  hour,  and,  putting  on  his  wretched 
rags  in  a  spiritless  kind  of  way,  went  down  tlie  stairs,  reach- 
ing the  door  in  company  with  his  merry  neighbor  of  the 
previous  night,  who,  whistling  a  tune  and  rattling  some 
money  in    his  pocket,  seemed    careless  of   weather  or   fate. 


438  STREET  ABABS  AND  (i UTTER  SNIPES. 

Said  this  companion  :  "  What 's  your  '  lay  '  to-day  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  said  Punch  ;  "  ain't  got  nothink.  I  'm  goin' 
down  to  the  market  to  see  what  luck  I '11  have  ;  hut  tliere 
ain't  much  doin'  there  in  this  weather,"'  he  added,  with  a 
look  of  despair  at  the  rain,  which  began  to  pour  steadily, 

"'T ain't  bad  weather  at  all,"  said  his  companion;  "why 
not  try  my  little  game?  I've  got  plenty;  see  here!"  and 
he  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  some  coins, 
offering  Punch  a  few,  who  gratefully  accepted  them. 

"  What  is  it  yer  do  ?  "  said  the  latter,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,"  answered  his  companion,  "  I  do  the  liftin." 

'•  What 's  that  ?  "  said  Punch. 

"  Don't  yer  knoM^  ?  "  and  then  he  explained  that  he  prowled 
about  ^'- jncking  up  what  I  can," — in  other  words,  stealing 
from  the  unwatchful  and  unwary.  Wliat  was  there  in  the 
proposition  that  made  Punch  draw  back  with  a  kind  of  fore- 
boding of  harm,  as  he  told  me  he  did?  He  could  not  say. 
Ijut  he  replied,  doubtfully  :  — 

"  Well,  I  "m  not  sure  how  1  "d  like  it." 

"  Yer  ain't  got  nothink  better,"  responded  the  other.  "  If 
I  were  you,  I  would  n't  l:)e  a  fool." 

Punch  was  impressed. 

'•  I  '11  think  of  it,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  I  may  be  in  luck 
to-da}'." 

"  Well,"  replied  tlie  other,  "  if  yer  falls  on  yer  feet,  all 
right,  no  'arm  done ;  but  if  yer  want  a  pal  as  '11  'elp,  I  *11  be 
down  near  the  pump  at  Aldgate  this  arternoon,  and  if  ye  've 
made  up  yer  mind  by  that  time  to  pardner  with  me,  I  '11  put 
yer  in  the  way  of  earnin'  yer  livin'  jolly  quick." 

"  All  right,"  said  Punch,  and  he  left  him. 

The  money  his  comi)auion  had  given  him  was  quickly 
spent  in  some  warm  food,  encouraged  by  whicli  he  went 
down  to  the  market-place,  and  did  his  best  to  get  work.  In 
vain  ;  nobody  ^^■anted    liim,   nobody  would    try   him.     *"  My 


CAPTUBINO  ARABS.  439 

luck,"  as  he  said,  "  was  down  agin  me."  As  the  afternoon 
came  on,  he  became  again  very  hungry,  and  was  soaking 
with  wet  and  half  famished  with  cold.  So  lie  made  up  his 
mind  to  seek  his  new  friend,  and  reaching  the  place  of 
appointment,  it  was  not  long  before  he  espied  him  saunter- 
ing about.  Making  up  to  him,  he  announced  his  determi- 
nation, and  the  two  boys  quickly  disappeared  down  a  narrow 
street  hard  by.  There  Punch  received  his  first  lesson.  He 
told  me  that  his  first  attempt  at  stealing  succeeded,  and  to 
show  something  of  the  feelings  such  boys  experience  at  such 
times,  I  may  recount  what  he  told  me. 

"One  moment,  sir,  I  was  starvin'.  I  had  nothin'  in  the 
world,  nobody  to  help  me,  no  'ome,  no  lodging  no  food,  nor 
nothink,  and  then  in  'arf  a  'our  I  'ad  money  in  my  hand,  to 
do  as  I  liked  with,  to  spend  how  I  liked,  and  when  it  wur 
gone  I  had  only  to  get  more  in  the  same  way.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  if  I  had  come  in  for  a  fortin'  right  away ;  and  so,"  he 
continued,  "  from  that  hour  until  when  you  met  me  I  've 
been  priggin',  and  priggin',  and  priggin'." 

How  many  poor  boys  like  Punch,  left  alone  to  perish,  find 
themselves  impelled  by  hunger  to  take  a  desperate  course 
which  launches  them  in  numbers  of  instances  upon  a  life  of 
crime  !  Let  the  vast  army  of  criminals  hopelessly  condemned 
to  a  lifelong  career  of  shame  ;  let  our  huge  judicial  and 
penal  system,  with  its  police,  prisons,  judges,  and  heavily-felt 
taxation,  combine  to  give  some  answer  to  the  question.  The 
sad  comment  upon  which,  is,  that  so  far  as  the  criminal 
population  is  concerned,  many  were  capable  of  being  made 
into  industrious  men  and  toomen,  had  they  been  taken  in  hand 
in  time.  We  should  ever  bear  in  mind  that  the  inducements 
to  persevere  in  crime  increase  a  thousand-fold  once  such  a 
life  has  been  begun  ;  and  so  at  length  the  lad  who  has  been 
simply  left  alone.,  merely  neglected,  until  he  is  compelled  to 
wander   as  an  "Arab"   on  our   streets,  becomes   that  evil 


440  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

thing  to  deal  with  for  which  the  vast  organizations  of  our 
judicial  system,  penitentiaries,  and  penal  establishments  are 
provided.  Moreover,  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that,  even 
viewed  from  the  merely  financial  standpoint,  neglect  costs 
more  than  a  wholesome  Christian  training,  for  every  con- 
victed thief  costs  the  country  a  high  taxation,  without 
considering  the  value  of  the  property  destroyed  by  his 
depredations. 

Place  this  expenditure  side  by  side  with  the  cost  of  the 
maintenance  and  instruction  of  such  a  lad  rescued  in  time 
from  the  corruption  and  temptations  of  the  streets,  and 
trained  in  such  an  institution  as  has  been  described,  and 
what  is  the  comparative  result?  Of  the  first  process  of 
neglect  and  its  consequences,  I  have  already  written ;  the 
more  excellent  way,  that  which  saves  the  boy  and  makes  him 
an  industrious,  virtuous  man,  costs  but  a  small  sum  per  year 
during  three  or  four  years  of  necessary  training,  which  fits 
him  for  honest  labor. 

Surely  with  such  an  alternative  before  us,  it  is  not  difficult 
to  see  what  is  our  duty  towards  these  poor  waifs  and  strays, 
whether  we  view  our  obligations  as  citizens  or  as  Christians. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

SPECIMEN     ARABS. 

Best  Appearances  Placed  in  Front. — Boston  Culture.  —  Wendell  Phillips  and  Dennis 
Kearney.  —  "  Prim  Talkey."  —  "  Arab  "  Cheek.  —  Loquaciousness.  —  Astounding 
Answers.  —  The  Perplexed  Traveler.  —  "Bully  for  the  Buck-eye."  —  Talkey  in  a 
New  Role.  —  A  Clergyman's  Sensible  Address.  —  Talkey  a  Perfect  Humbug. — 
"  Apple -Dumpling."  —  Why  that  Name.  —  Bal<y  Talk.  —  An  Affecting  Tale. — 
Different  from  Most  Street  Juveniles.  —  The  Dumpling  Pitying  Himself. —  How 
He  was  Introduced  to  a  Home.  —  "  I  Never,  Never  Steal'd  Nothing."  —  His  Two 
Homes.  —  Ragged  Dick.  — The  Box  Hotel.— "  What '11  Johnny  Nolan  Say?"  — 
A  Jolly  Good  Fellow.  — Dick  Fully  Awake.  —  Pickety.  —  "Hain't  Got  No  Name, 
Sir."  —  Sleeping  in  the  "Holler."  —  A  Smile  Overcoming  the  W^olf-feeling.  —  The 
Superintendent's  Friendly  Talk.  —  The  Sleeping -Room.  —  "The  Upper  Ten."  —  A 
Charitable  Hotel-Waiter.  —  Pickety's  Earnings. —  Seeking  to  Please  God.  —  Was 
it  a  Ghost?  — Mino  Whistles  "Captain  .Jinks."  —  Getting  Manners.  —  Farming  a 
Splendid  Business.  —  Pickety's  Fears  of  Indians.  —  Interesting  Letter.  —  Accumu- 
lating Property.  —  A  Thriving  Farmer. 

"TF  the  shopkeeper  arranges  his  choicest  wares  in  the 
window ;  if  the  apple-woman  places  her  best  fruit  on 
top ;  if  the  candidate  for  a  pulpit  selects  his  brightest  essay 
for  his  first  appearance,  —  may  I  not  be  excused  in  presenting 
a  few  rare  specimens  of  street  Arabs?  All  tlie  goods  in  the 
shop  are  not  equal  to  those  on  exhibition,  all  the  apples  are 
not  like  those  at  the  top,  nor  do  my  specimen  "Arabs," 
whether  good  or  bad,  fully  represent  their  own  class.  Like 
modern  Manchester  houses,  they  are  unlike  all  others,  their 
very  oddity  attracting  attention,  or  their  brightness  standing 
out  prominently  in  contrast  to  their  duller  companions. 

For  the  intellectual  "Arab"  we  must  turn  to  Boston.  No 
other  city  could  produce  such  a  precocious  youth  as  "Prim 
Talkey."  The  rector  of  a  parish  in  Ohio  was  catechizing 
the  children  of  his  Sunday-school,  and  asked:  "Where  did 
the  wise  men  come  from?"  '■^  From  Bo8ton!''  sliouted  a 
little  wretch,  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Upon  further  inquiry 
it  was  discovered  this  urchin  himself  hailed  from  the  "  Hub." 


442  SriiEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEIt  SNIPES. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  of  Boston  culture.  The 
■whole  country,  of  course,  has  long  since  yielded  the  palm  to 
the  "  Hub,"  whose  spokes  of  intellect  radiate  far  and  wide. 
Nay,  is  it  not  the  Hub  of  the  Universe?  How  shocked  were 
we,  therefore,  who  live  on  its  edge,  to  have  the  inquiry  put 
to  us  elsewhere  :  "  Is  n't  Boston  famous  for  its  baked  beans  ?  " 
This  was  the  city's  greatest  fame  to  that  vulgar  soul !  So 
devoted  to  literary  accomplishments  are  her  citizens,  that  we 
have  hetird  of  one  schoolgirl  who  could  chew  gum  in  seven 
different  languages ;  the  ver}'  "  Arabs  "  therefore  must  be 
creatures  of  refinement.  Their  conversational  powers  are 
by  no  means  limited ;  they  have  great  strength  of  jair. 
Speeches  are  in  order  under  the  shadow  of  the  Gilded 
Dome ;  hence  the  street  habitues  are  endowed  with  the 
universal  gift.  Faneuil  Hall  has  not  existed  in  vain ;  the 
torrents  of  eloquence  })oured  out  of  so  many  lips,  from  those 
of  Wendell  Phillips  down  (or  up,  which  shall  I  say  ?)  to  San 
Francisco's  sanddot  orator,  the  refined  Dennis  Kearney,  could 
not  be  confined  within  its  classic  walls.  Flowing  over  like 
a  Holland  river  through  a  broken  dike,  the  city  has  been 
inundated  with  freshets  of  orations.  What  wonder  then  if 
precocious  boys  pick  up  the  floating  fragments?  Some  of 
these  hopefuls  have  a  regular  cabinet  of  curiosities  —  odd 
bits  from  many  a  speech,  but  when  strung  together  with  an 
"  Arab's  "  own  vocabulary,  Ave  have  such  racy  phraseology 
as  would  charm  a  Savannah  negro,  and  afford  him  a  rich 
lesson  for  his  powers  of  mimicry. 

"Prim  Talkey  "  is  a  proud  natiiralized  citizen  of  Boston  — 
a  rare  character,  a  "  born  genius,"  loquacious,  witt}',  and 
possessing  a  considerable  amount  of  what  "Arabs"  are 
seldom  deficient  in  —  cheek.  Gifted  with  a  tenacious 
memorv,  he  had  also  picked  up  a  good  education  during  the 
few  years  he  attended  the  public  school.  Glib  and  oily  of 
tongue,  though  given  to  mixing  his  sentences,  to  the  amuse- 


SPECIMEN  ABABS.  443 

merit  of  some  and  the  amazement  of  others,  he  was  always 
displaying  himself.  With  a  serio-comic  expression  of  counte- 
nance, he  would  often  pour  forth  stereotyped  orations,  like 
an  embryo  politician,  till  the  wondering  small  boys  who 
formed  his  audience  broke  out  into  genuine  applause. 
Then  would  he  reply  to  a  supposed  opponent  with  torrents 
of  ridicule,  of  satire,  and  of  homely  wit,  like  the  great 
statesmen  of  his  proud   city,  to  tlieir  profound  admiration. 

Watching  his  chances  at  the  depot,  on  one  occasion  a 
gentleman  hailed  him  :  — 

"  Hullo,  boy  !  carry  this  bag." 

"•  Thankee,  sir ;  "  (then  in  an  undertone)  "  rather  apropos 
just  now  to  a  fellow  of  my  financial  status." 

The  gentleman  glanced  at  him,  having  partly  heard  the 
remark,  and  noticing  his  serious  face  and  tidy  appearance, 
became  interested  in  the  lad. 

"  How  old  are  you,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  The  Fourth  of  July,  sir,  is  immediately  contiguous  to  my 
fourteenth  birthday.  If  I  develop  according  to  the  law  of 
the  survival  of  the  fittest,  I  will  then  cross  another  Rubicon, 
right  side  up  with  care." 

The  gentleman  watched  the  face  serene  and  serious,  then 
suggested :  — 

"  You  have  been  to  school  ?  " 

"  Only  promiscuously." 

"  Why  are  you  absent  to-day  ?  " 

"The  exacting  demands  of  life  necessitate  a  personal 
devotion  to  business.      Do  you  twig  ?      E  pluribus  unum.^' 

"Are  you  a  native  of  Boston?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  I  am  an  Irish  patriot,  emitted  from  its  fertile 
soil  through  English  misgovernment,  to  become  a  free  and 
independent  citizen  of  this  antediluvian  Republic." 

"  How  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  My  occupation  is   general,  —  literature,  being    a    news- 


444       STBEET  ARABS  AND  G  UTTEE  SNIPES. 

vender ;  trade,  dealing  in  ncjtions ;  and  baggage.  I  'ni 
general  —  General  Prim  Talkey.  I  am  a  titled  sovereign  in 
my  own  right,  you  bet." 

The  gentleman  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  on  the  grave 
face  of  the  lad,  then  incjuired :  — 

"  Are  your  })arents  living?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  my  progeintors  are  deceased.  0  tempora,  0 
mores  !  " 

Supposing  now,  that  the  Ijoy  was  really  demented,  and  in 
an  abnormal  mental  condition,  he  asked  in  a  pathetic  tone 
of  voice  :  — 

"  Are  you  alone  in  the  world,  my  poor  lad  ?  " 

To  this  question  Talkey  replied :  — 

"•  Instigated  by  your  personalities,  I  decline  to  be  inter- 
viewed. I  seek  to  earn  my  bread  with  the  sweat  of 
honor  on  my  untarnished  brow.  Permit  me,  therefore,  to 
say  that  there  need  be  no  further  sine  qua  tion  between  us. 
I  mean  no  offence,  sir." 

And  this  rejoinder  fairly  silenced  the  kind  questioner,  who 
soon  reached  his  destination  and  paid  the  boy  handsomely. 
Talkey  thanked  him  with  a  low  bow,  for  he  was  [)olite,  and 
added : — 

"  Believe  me,  sir,  your  generosity  suri)asses  my  e(][uinox." 
Then  sauntering  again  towards  tlie  depot,  he  jingled  the 
coins  in  liis  hand,  and  half  shouted,  "  Bully  for  the  Buck- 
eye." As  he  drew  near  the  station  he  saAv  a  ragged  chum 
of  the  most  ignorant  type  and  hailed  him  thus :  — 

"  Tim,  you  will  oblige  me  by  forking  over  that  twenty- 
five  cents  recently  borrowed,  else  I  shall  obliterate  your 
optics,  and  make  you  feel  mean  as  boarding-house  hash. 
Yes,  siree,  bob.  Do  you  see  this?"  and  he  held  up  his  fist, 
"  remember,  goods  delivered  free  to  all  parts,  veni,  vidi,  viei, 
and  now  I  am  ready  for  custom,  as  the  oyster  remarked," 
added  Mr.  Talkey,  as  he  waited  an  incoming  train. 


SPECniEX  ABABS.  445 

I  had  missed  Talkey  for  a  few  years,  until  I  heard  his 
voice  at  a  prayer-meeting  in  another  city,  held  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  The 
lad  had  grown  to  manhood,  was  well  dressed,  and  eyidently 
well  kept.  So  soon  as  the  leader  announced  the  meeting  open, 
Talkey  (for  I  still  call  him  by  his  old  name)  jumped  to  his 
feet,  and  soon  a  tornado  of  words  swept  over  the  assembly. 
Dear  me,  when  I  think  of  it  I  How  pained  many  seemed, 
while  others  enjoyed  the  "fun.""  The  tried  leader  whispered 
to  me  :  "  A  great  bore  ! "'  but  Talkey  spurred  on,  deliyering 
himself  with  rapid  utterance,  until  the  vehis  in  his  neck  were 
swollen,  and  his  face  glowed  with  excitement.  He  talked 
for  ten  minutes  and  said  nothing.  It  was,  "  Brothers  and 
sisters,  I — I  —  I  —  I."  He  gave  us  soujj  without  meat,  and 
no  vegetables  thrown  in  ;  sawdust-bread,  and  apple-pie  minus 
crust  and  apples.  After  he  sat  down  with  the  smile  of 
self-complacency  on  his  brazen  face,  a  clergyman  arose  and 
speaking  with  gravity  remarked  :  — 

"  Brethren,  I  must  speak  my  mind  at  this  meeting.  The 
clergymen  and  prominent  laymen  of  our  churches  have  been 
blamed  for  absenting  themselves  from  this  noon-day  meeting. 
I  wish  to  exonerate  them.  Until  you  change  your  methods 
very  radically,  you  will  keej)  them  away.  Let  there  be 
greater  reverence  for  God's  word,  more  humble  dependence 
on  the  Spirit,  and  an  improvement  of  manners  generally, 
if  you  would  gain  their  confidence.  Above  all,  there  must 
be  less  talk.  There  is  a  class  of  spiritual  loafers  in  every 
city,  too  lazy  to  work,  who  flit  from  one  meeting  to  another, 
and  from  city  to  city,  eating  the  bread  of  idleness.  Their 
boasted  consecration  is  a  strong  appeal  to  the  pockets  of 
unsuspecting  brothers  and  sentimental  sisters,  on  whom 
they  fatten. 

"■If  the  officers  of  the  Young  Men"s  Christian  Association 
will    deal    firndy   with    this    class    of   tramps,  finding    them 


446  .STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SXJPES. 

employment  if  they  are  at  all  worthy,  and  discouraging  their 
irreverent  and  blasphemous  narration  of  experiences,  the 
sober,  godly  Christians  of  our  city  will  find  their  way  again 
to  the  place  of  prayer.  This  young  man  who  has  just  spoken 
has  done  no  work  since  his  professed  conversion  six  months 
ago.  He  claims  to  be  perfect^  but  I  think  him  a  perfect 
liumhug  ;  he  has  caught  hold  of  certain  technicalities  which 
may,  or  may  not,  be  misleading  imder  certain  circumstances. 
This  young  man  is  a  type  of  a  large  class  of  idlers  who 
roam  around  the  city  seeking  out  free  meetings  where  they 
can  prate  and  gabble.  With  the  five  dollars  swindled  from 
Mrs.  Giveall  —  for  I  call  it  mean  swindling  to  whine  like  a 
hungry  dog  in  the  presence  of  the  lady  —  with  that  money 
he  has  purchased  a  box  of  cigars,  of  which  I  have  indubita- 
ble proof,  and  smokes  them  in  his  own  room.  I  lay  the 
responsibility  on  you,  brethren,  that  you  do  not  encourage 
this  light,  flippant,  boasting  of  self-perfection,  and  narration 
of  experiences  by  suspicious  characters,  within  these  walls." 
Before  the  good  pastor  had  completed  the  last  sentence, 
Talkey  had  hurriedly  left  the  room,  and  the  last  I  heard  of 
him  he  had  set  up  as  a  temjierance  lecturer,  hiring  himself 
to  various  societies  at  five  dollars  a  lecture  and  expenses. 

Permit  me  now  to  introduce  to  my  reader  Boy  No.  2. 
I  well  remember  being  deeply  affected  in  hearing  from  the 
lips  of  this  lad  the  hardships  endured  by  him  previous  to 
finding  shelter  in  Miss  Macpherson's  Home  of  Industry. 
His  Christian  name  I  withold,  but  will  call  him  "  Apple- 
Dumpling."  I  can  scarcely  tell  why,  but  when  I  first  saw 
him  I  thought  of  that  special  pudding.  Perhaps  it  was  his 
roundness,  or  maybe  his  freshness,  or  his  hair  looking  like 
steam  rising  above  and  beyond  his  smiling  face  which 
suggested  it ;  perhaps  it  was  his  dimples,  the  name  having 
a   phonetic  sound  akin   to   dumpies,  from    whicli   one   easily 


AN    UNRESCUED    "ARAB.' 


SPECIMEN  ARABS.  449 

glides  into  dumpling.  Besides,  he  was  so  sweet,  and  so  spicy, 
and  so  wholesome-looking,  he  would  surely  make  the  mouth 
of  a  cannibal  water  with  desire  to  eat  him.  Well,  Master 
Apple-Dumpling  stood  before  me  with,  the  babiest  face  I 
ever  saw  on  a  boy  of  fourteen.  Innocent,  fresh,  pink,  with 
its  varying  expressions  like  sunshine  and  shadow  chasing 
each  other  over  the  glassy  waters.  He  laughed  and  he  cried 
by  turns,  and  was  interesting  in  every  mood. 

Calling  him  to  me,  and  looking  into  his  guileless  face,  I 
said:  ''Now,  I  want  to  hear  all  about  you:  Who  you  are, 
and  where  you  come  from,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

He  seemed  a  greater  baby  than  before,  as  he  answered 
my  questions  in  "  baby  talk."  He  had  no  "  fader."  He 
"  know'd  he  had  a  fader  once,  not  t'  oder  one,  but  my  fader 
wot 's  dead  an'  in  his  grave."  After  a  while  I  learned  that 
"  t'  oder  one "  had  reference  to  the  man  with  whom  his 
"  moder  "  lived.  They  were  both  "  bad  uns,"  and  compelled 
the  Dumpling  to  beg  for  them.  But  evidently  he  was  not 
a  profitable  speculation,  so  they  turned  him  adrift.  And 
in  the  great  city  he  floated  about,  now  whirled  into  some 
dangerous  eddy,  anon  shot  forth  with  violence  into  the 
roaring  current.  For  a  time  he  supported  himself  by  the 
sale  of  matches.  He  earned  two  cents  on  every  four  boxes 
sold.  His  earnings  averaged  eight  cents  per  day.  This  gave 
him  two  meals,  which  included  a  cup  of  coffee,  at  two  cents, 
and  a  piece  of  bread,  which  cost  two  cents  more.  Occasion- 
ally, he  made  extra  money,  and  then  indulged  in  a  change 
of  "wittles;"  oftener  he  made  less,  and  accordingly  fared 
worse.  He  slept  in  empty  wagons,  and,  when  permitted, 
in  a  stable.  His  clothes  were  the  "  cast-offs "  of  sturdier 
"Arabs,"  who  bought  "togs"  from  Isaac,  and  considerately 
blanketed  Apple-Dumpling  in  the  rags  which  otherwise 
would  have  been  cast  in  the  river.  The  waif  took  them 
thankfully.     This  poor  child  was  different  from  most  street 


450  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

juveniles.  Infantile  in  looks,  in  speech,  and  in  manners,  yet 
wise  in  his  thoughts  —  wise,  because  taught  by  the  Spirit 
of  wisdom.  Dumpling  said  he  was  always  urdiapp}'  in 
thinking  he  would  grow  big  some  time,  and  would  have 
no  home.  The  thought  of  a  home  occupied  his  mind  during 
his  street- wanderings,  and  he  was  rendered  more  miserable 
by  the  fear  of  future  horaelessness  than  by  his  daily  hard- 
ships. While  speaking  of  this  fear  his  baby  face  became 
clouded,  and  sobbing  loudly,  he  broke  out  into  the  piteous 
wail  of  a  child-cry.  As  I  tried  to  comfort  him,  he  apologized, 
still  sobbing,  in  his  innocent  way  :  — 

"  I  ca-ca-ean't  'elp  it,  sir ;  every  time  1  thinks  of  myself 
in  dem  wa-wa-wagons,  I  pities,  ])ities  myself,  widout  a 
'ome." 

'"'Yes,  but  you  have  a  home  no^':  ;i  large,  nice  home;  and 
here  is  dear  Miss  Macpherson,  and  lots  of  little  bo^-s  and 
girls  for  brothers  and  sisters,  and  you  ought  to  be  very 
happy.*" 

"I  is,  sir,"  said  the  Dumpling;  ''Miss  Ma-Mac-Macfason," 
still  sobbing,  "is  wervy  kind,  sir,  an'  I  'm  werry  glad  she 
ha-has  guv  me  a  'ome." 

"How  did  you  come  here,  then?"  was  my  inquiry, 
desirous  to   learn  more  of  my  })udding-boy. 

"I  heard  a  pweacheh,  sir,  in  de  street,  an'  he  was  a-tellin' 
of  a  felloM'  as  runs  away  from  'ome,  which  I  Avould  n't  'aVe 
done  nohow,  an'  'ow  'is  fader  tooken  'im  'ome  agin,  an'  dev 
kilt  a  calf  fur  'is  dinner,  which  were  a  better  dinner  'n  Ole 
Greasy 's  coffee  'n'  bread,  an'  T  went  to  de  pweacheh  'n" 
said :  '  Could  you  take  me  to  a  'ome,  sir  ? "  *n'  he  said : 
''Ave  you  no  'ome,  my  laddie?'  an'  he  tak'd  my  'and  an* 
brought  me  to  i\Iiss  Macfason.  De  Lord  Jesus  Avas  good 
to  me,  sir,  an'  he  put  it  into  de  heart  of  de  pweacheh  to 
bring  me  'ere.** 

On  further  iH(]uivy.  it  develo^ted  that  tlic  ]>oy"s  father  was 


SPECIMEN'  ABABS.  451 

a  Christian  man,  who  took  his  child  to  the  church  where 
he  attended,  jind  there  he  heard  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  whom 
he  had  never  forgotten.  Miss  Macpherson's  Bible-teaching 
revived  the  Saviour's  name  in  the  lieart  of  the  lad,  who  had 
noAV  grown  in  the  fuller  knowledge  of  his  loving  kindness. 

"  Did  you  ever  steal,  my  boy  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  I  "  replied  he,  promptl}^,  and  with  an  expres- 
sion of  pain  at  the  possibility  of  my  suspecting  him  in  the 
light  of  a  thief;  "I  never,  never  steal'd  nothing.  Plenty  of 
boys  steal'd  w'en  I  looks  on,  an'  I  alius  called  '  Perlice ! ' 
Some  of  dem  'ave  been  'rested,  but  dey  knocks  me  down  for 
it,  and  says :  '  Chunky,'  —  dat  's  me,  sir,  —  de}^  says, 
'  Chunky,  if  you  tells,  we  '11  kill  you.'  An'  den  dey  kicks 
me,  and  t'umps  me  ;  an'  I  says,  I  tell  every  time,  'cause  de 
Lord  Jesus  is  lookin*  down,  an'  he  says,  '  Chunky,  tell  me 
everyt'ing,'  an'  anyhow,  I  "II  tell  him.  Dem  lx»ys  alius 
run'd  away  w'en  I  told  um  of  de  Lord  Jesus." 

"Do  you  now  love  Jesus,  my  child?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  liked  de  Lord  Jesus  alius,  but  since  he  brought 
me  'ere,  and  gave  me  a  'ome,  an'  put  it  into  de  heart  of  the 
pweacheh  to  bring  me  to  Miss  Macfason,  I  love  him  lots  more. 
De  Lord  Jesus,  sir,  died  for  my  sins,  an'  washed  'em  away  in 
his  pwecious  blood,  an'  he  gives  me  (lis  'ome,  and  t'oder 
'ome  in  'eaven." 

Herein  is  the  wisdom  of  this  dear  boy  :  he  knows  the 
Lord  and  is  known  of  him.  Cliunky  (or,  as  I  prefer  to  call 
him,  Apple-Dumpling)  has  now  another  home  in  Canada, 
and  is  growing  out  of  his  babyhood  into  a  sturdy,  obedient, 
and  industrious  lad. 

"Ragged  Dick"  was  another  hero  of  the  streets  worthy 
of  our  acquaintance.  His  history  is  romantic  all  through. 
Mr.  Alger,  whose  fascinating  pen  has  given  us  the  story, 
has  introduced  to  us  many  interesting  characters  :  Ben  the 


452  STBEET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Baggage -Siuaslier,  Mark  the  Match-boy,  Fosdick,  Micky 
Macguire,  and  a  host  of  others.  Ilagged  Dick  was  quaint, 
phik)Sophic,  good-natured,  and  energetic.  We  are  ghid  of 
his  promotion  from  the  streets  to  "  'spectability,"  Avealth, 
and  social  position.  His  quiet  good-humor  and  ready  wit 
are  among  the  qualities  which  make  him  so  great  a 
favorite  :  — 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  n't  washed  your  face  this  morning," 
said  Mr.  Whitney. 

"  They  did  n't  have  no  washbowls  at  the  hotel  where  I 
stopped,"  said  Dick. 

"  What  hotel  did  you  stop  at  ?  " 

"  The  Box  Hotel." 

"  The  Box  Hotel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  slept  in  a  box  in  Spruce  Street." 

"  How  did  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  slept  bull3^" 

"  Suppose  it  had  rained  ?  " 

"  Then  I  'd  have  wet  my  best  clothes,"  said  Dick. 

Later  on,  Dick  was  presented  with  a  new  suit  of  clothes 
by  his  friend  Frank  Whitney.  In  taking  a  survey  of  him- 
self before  the  mirror,  he  first  started  back  in  astonishment. 

"  My  gracious,  that  isn't  me,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  yourself  ?  "  asked  Frank,  smiling. 

"  It  reminds  me  of  Cindreller,"  said  Dick,  "  when  she  was 
changed  into  a  fairy  princess.  I  see  it  one  night  at  Barnums'. 
What  '11  Johnny  Nolan  say  when  he  sees  me  ?  He  won't 
dare  to  s})eak  to  such  a  young  swell  as  I  be  now.  Ain't  it 
rich?"  And  Dick  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  His  fancy  was 
tickled  by  tlie  antici[)ation  of  his  friend's  surprise.  Then 
the  thouo'ht  of  the  valuable  orifts  he  had  received  occurred 
to  him,  and  he  looked  gratefully  at  Frank. 

"  You  're  a  brick,"  he  said. 

"A  what?" 


SPECIMEN  ARABS.  453 

"  A  brick !  You  're  a  jolly  good  fellow  to  give  me  such 
a  present." 

"  You  're  quite  welcome,  Dick,"  said  Frank,  kindly,  "  I  am 
better  off  than  you  are,  and  I  can  spare  the  clothes  just  as 
well  as  not.     The  old  clothes  you  can  make  into  a  bundle." 

"  Wait  a  minute  till  I  get  my  handkercher,"  and  Dick 
pulled  from  the  pocket  of  the  trousers  a  dirty  rag  which 
might  have  been  white  once,  though  it  did  not  look  like  it, 
and  had  apparently  once  formed  a  part  of  a  sheet  or 
shirt. 

"  You  must  n't  carry  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  But  I  've  got  a  cold,"  said  Dick. 

"  O,  I  don't  mean  you  to  go  without  a  handkercliief. 
I  '11  give  you  one." 

Frank  oJ)ened  his  trunk  and  pulled  out  two,  wliich  he 
gave  to  Dick. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  ain't  dreamin',"  said  Dick,  once  more 
surveying  himself  doubtfully  in  the  glass.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  \\\ 
dreamin',  and  shall  wake  up  in  a  barrel,  as  I  did  night  afore 
last." 

"  Shall  I  pinch  you,  so  you  can  wake  here  ?  "  asked  Frank, 
playfully. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dick  seriously,  "  I  wish  you  would." 

He  ]3ulled  up  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket,  and  Frank  pinched 
him  pretty  hard,  so  that  Dick  winced,  and  said :  '•  Yes,  I 
guess  I  am  awake." 

In  a  very  interesting  article  published  in  St.  Nicholas^ 
from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Brace,  entitled  "Wolf-Reared  Child- 
ren," I  select  the  story  of  "  Pickety." 

He  has  no  cap,  but  his  tangled  hair  serves  as  a  covering 
for  his  head  ;  bright  and  cunning  eyes  look  out  from  under 
the  twisted  locks ;  his  face  is  so  dirty  and  brown  that  you 


•45-i  SriiEET  ABABS  AXD  CiUTTEB  SNIPES. 

hardly  know  what  the  true  color  is  ;  he  has  no  shirt,  but 
wears  a  ragged  coat,  and  trousers  out  at  the  knees  and  much 
too  large  for  him;  he  is  barefooted,  of  course.  He  is  not 
at  all  a  timid  boy,  small  as  he  is,  but  acts  as  if  nothing  would 
ever  upset  his  seif-possession,  whatever  might  happen.  The 
benevolent  Mr.  Macy,  who  has  been  dealing  with  poor 
children  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  meets  him,  and 
asks  :  — 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  do  you  want ! " 

*'  A  home,  please,  sir." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Hain't  got  no  name,  sir  ;  the  boys  calls  me  Pickety." 

"Well,  Pickety,  where  do  you  live  ?  "' 

"  Don't  live  nowhere,  sir.'' 

"  But  where  do  you  stay  ? ""  ii 

"  I  don't  stay  nowheres  in  the  daytime,  but  I  sleeps  in 
hay-barges,  sir,  and  sometimes  in  drv-goods  boxes,  and  down 
on  the  steam-gratings  in  winter,  till  the  M.  P.'s  [policemen] 
came  along,  and  jist  now  a  cove  has  taken  me  in  at  the  iron 
bridge  at  Harlem."" 

"  Iron  bridge  I     What  do  you  mean  ?  "' 

"  Why,  them  holler  iron  things  what  holds  the  bridge  up. 
He  got  it  first,  and  he  lets  me  in."' 

"  Pickety,  who  is  your  father  ?  " 

•'Hain't  got  no  father,  sir;  he  died  afore  I  knew,  and  me 
mither,  she  drinked  and  Ijate  me,  and  we  was  put  out  by  the 
landlord,  and  she  died,  and  the  City  Hall  buried  her ! " 
And  something  like  a  shadow  came  over  the  cunning  blue 
eyes. 

"  Pickety,  did  you  ever  hear  of  God?"  » 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  have  beared  the  fellers  swear  about  him,  and 
I  know  it 's  luck}'  to  say  something  to  him  when  you  sleep 
out  in  Ijad  nights." 

"  Did  you  ever  go  to  school,  Pickety,  or  to  clmrc-li  ?  " 


SPECIMEN  AllABS.  455 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  never  went  to  no  church  nor  school.  I  should 
kind  o'  like  to  learn  somethin'  !  "' 

''  Well,  Picket}',  we  '11  make  a  man  of  you,  if  you  will 
only  try.     You  will,  I  see  !  " 

So  Pickety  is  sent  by  Mr.  Macy  down  to  a  clean,  beautiful 
"Lodging-House,"  put  up  by  a  generous  lady  for  just  such 
homeless  children.  It  stands  at  No.  287  East  Broadway. 
A  kind,  experienced  Superintendent,  Mr.  Calder,  meets 
him,  and  a  matron  —  Mrs.  Calder  —  takes  him  in  hand. 
Her  smile  alone  would  take  the  wolf-feeling  out  of  him  and 
make  him  more  of  a  human  child.  In  his  secret  heart,  little 
Pickety  thinks  tliey  must  be  a  very  soft  set,  or  else  that 
they  want  to  make  money  out  of  him  by-and-by,  but  he 
takes  their  kindness  very  (|uietly.  Perhaps,  too,  he  is 
watching  for  a  chance  to  pocket  a  handy  little  article  or 
so,  or  to  slip  out-of-doors  with  something. 

And  now,  first,  he  is  put  into  a  bath  and  made  clean,  and 
his  hair  is  cut  sliort  by  a  cutter,  such  as  those  used  for  cli[)- 
ping  horses.  He  feels  much  better  after  all  this,  and  quite 
enjoys  a  clean  check-shirt  given  him  ;  but  he  finds  that  he 
must  wear  his  old  trousers  again,  so  his  hastily  formed  plan 
of  slipping  away  with  a  whole  suit  of  new  clothes  is  nipped 
in  the  bud. 

He  then  enjoys  a  plain,  wholesome  supper  in  company 
Avith  a  number  of  other  boys,  wlio  have  been  in  the  house 
longer;  and  Avhen  he  sees  the  sweet  face  of  the  matron,  who 
is  serving  them,  he  finds  his  feelings  change  a  little,  and  he 
almost  thinks  she  is  too  good  for  him  to  try  to  cheat  her. 

Presently  he  goes  up  willingly  to  a  large,  cheerful  school- 
room. It  is  the  prettiest  place  he  ever  saw  ;  there  are  many 
lights,  and  large  windows,  and  beautiful  flowers  in  a  con- 
servatory at  the  end,  and  pot-flowers  at  the  sides,  and  a  nice 
library,  and  long  rows  of  neat  boxes,  where  the  boys  keep 
their  books  and   thing's. 


450  SriiEET  AliABS  AXD  GUTTEn  SXIPES. 

Every  part  of  this  room  is  as  clean  as  wax-work,  and 
Piekety  is  very  glad  lie  has  had  that  thorough  washing  ;  it 
begins  to  dawn  upon  him,  too,  that  the  people  must  be  good 
who  have  made  such  a  nice  room  for  poor  bo^-s.  But  he 
still  keeps  a  lookout,  lest  he  should  be  entrapped  in  some 
disagreeable  way. 

By-and-by,  tlie  Superintendent,  a  handsome,  benevolent- 
lookino-  man,  talks  to  the  bovs  about  thino-s  our  little  waif 
never  heard  of  before  —  of  doiiig  right,  and  making  true 
change  in  selling  newspapers,  and  not  stealing  other  people's 
property,  and  of  a  God  above  who  is  pleased  if  a  street-boj' 
is  honest  and  good.  Little  Piekety  thinks  this  is  meant  for 
him,  for  only  yesterday  a  customer  gave  him  a  ten-cent  piece 
by  mistake  for  a  penny  and  He  never  told  him,  but  pocketed 
the  money ;  and  he  remembers  a  poor  old  woman,  whose 
apples  he  used  to  steal,  till  she  had  to  break  up  her  stand 
and  go  to  the  Island  Almshouse  ;  so  he  feels  very  uneasy  at 
the  Superintendent's  words. 

After  this  came  the  lessons,  and  for  tlie  first  time  he  was 
introduced  to  all  the  letters,  though  he  had  known  enough 
before  to  tell  one  newspaper  from  another :  and  he  was  very 
fflad  to  find  that  he  learned  them  quicklv,  and  that  in  count- 
ing  and  sums  he  was  quicker  than  the  others ;  of  course, 
this  was  because  he  sold  papers  and  so  had  to  make  change 
often. 

Little  Pickety's  greatest  surprise,  however,  was  when  he 
was  taken  up  to  the  sleeping-room  —  a  large,  handsome,  airy 
dormitory,  clean  as  a  ship's  deck,  with  nice,  springy  wire- 
beds,  arranged  on  iron  frames,  one  over  another  like  ships' 
bunks.  He  saw  some  boys  kneeling  d(^)wn  before  climbing 
into  bed,  and  he  thought  he,  too,  might  say  something  to 
the  Great  Being  above,  of  Avhom  he  had  heard,  and  who 
seemed  to  care  even  for  such  poor  creatures  as  he  —  and  he 
made  his  prayer.  ■  He  had  had    some    intention    of  ranging 


SPECIMEN  ARABS.  457 

arouiKl  at  night  and  playing  some  trick,  or  stealing  some- 
thing, but  his  new  feelings  drove  the  idea  out  of  his  head : 
and,  besides,  he   saw  presently  that  strict  watch  was  kept. 

After  his  Ijreakfast  next  morning,  he  heard  that  some 
boys  had  put  their  money  into  the  "savings-bank"  in  the 
audience-room ;  and  others  had  borrowed  from  the  fund  for 
starting  boys  in  business,  and  others  had  paid  for  their 
lodgings  and  meals  (five  cents  each),  and  he  began  to  feel 
he,  too,  must  do  something.  He  did  not  wish  to  be 
a  "  pauper,"  nor  to  have  anybody  think  of  him  as  one,  and  he 
saw  lads  as  small  as  he  who  said  that-  they  had  earned  from 
fifty  cents  to  a  dollar  a  day,  and  that  they  bought  their  own 
clothes. 

One  bright  little  fellow  especially  excited  his  envy  by 
declaring  that  he  '•'•  belonged  to  the  upper  ten,"  as  it 
appeared  he  slept  in  the  ten-cent  dormitory,  and  had  his  own 
special  "ten-cent  locker"  for  his  clothes,  with  a  private 
key. 

Hearing  all  this,  Pickety  at  length  ventured  to  speak  to 
the  Superintendent,  who  kindly  explained  to  him  that  each 
boy  was  expected  to  do  all  he  could  to  pay  his  own  way, 
that  idle  and  pauper  boys  were  not  wanted  there,  and  that 
some  kind  gentleman  had  supplied  money  with  which  to 
help  boys  who  might  wish  to  start  in  business. 

Pickety  knew  all  about  the  boot-blacking  business,  but, 
as  he  explained,  "  a  big  boy  had  punched  him  and  stolen  all 
his  kit."  He  could  sell  newspapers,  too,  but  he  had  been 
"  stuck  "  with  his  last  lot,  and  had  lost  all  his  money ;  and 
after  that  piece  of  bad  luck  he  had  lived  on  bits  of  bread 
that  a  hotel-waiter  had  given  him,  and  once  or  twice  he  had 
been  fed  by  one  of  the  other  boys. 

Mr.  Calder  was  ready  to  supply  him  with  a  boot-blacking 
outfit,  or  to  give  him  checks  which  would  entitle  him  to  so 
many   copies   of   the    Telegram  or   Daily  News^  the   boy  to 


458  STBEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

return  the  value  of  the  checks,  after  a  few  clays,  when  he 
should  have  made  some  money. 

Pickety  chose  the  newspaper  checks,  and  cleared  twenty- 
five  cents,  and  then  invested  again,  and  came  back  at  niglit 
with  fifty  cents  made,  feeling  very  })roud  and  independent, 
since  he  was  now  able  to  pay  for  his  lodging  and  meals. 

The  next  day  and  the  next,  lie  appeared  at  tlie  Lodging- 
House,  for  he  rather  liked  the  place  and  the  people,  and, 
wide-awake  as  he  was,  he  saw  that  he  got  a  great  deal  for 
liis  money,  and  could  not  hope  to  do  l)etter  anywhere  else. 
In  a  few  days  he  had  repaid  the  loan,  had  a  little  caj)ital 
ahead,  and  actually  found  himself  rich  enough  to  afford 
a  pair  of  new  trousers. 

Then,  later,  having  some  money,  he  was  sorely  tempted 
to  })itch  pennies  and  make  more,  or  to  buy  "  policy-tickets," 
and  thus  take  a  short  path  to  fortune.  Other  boys  were 
after  him  to  "  go  on  the  lay,"  as  they  called  it  —  that  is,  to 
break  open  stores,  and  so  gain  fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars 
at  once,  instead  of  Avorking  hard  every  day  and  all  day,  for 
the  sake  of  getting  a  few  pennies.  But  in  the  Sunday-even- 
ing meetings  of  the  Lodging-House,  Pickety  heard  a  great 
deal  about  the  sin  of  stealing  and  the  folly  of  sucli  "  short 
cuts  to  fortune,"  and  he  began  to  see  how  wrong  and  foolish 
all  these  things  were ;  and  that  he  ought  to  try  in  his  humble 
way  to  lead  a  straightforward  and  manly  life,  and  to  please 
the  wonderful  Being  of  whom  the  teacher  read  in  the  Testa- 
nient,  and  who  had  lived  and  died  on  the  earth  for  men. 

So  Pickety  broke  away  from  bad  companions,  and,  finding 
that  liberal  interest  was  offered  in  the  savings-bank  of  the 
Ludging-House,  he  put  his  money  there ;  and  when,  after 
some  months,  they  would  no  longer  keep  it  there,  because, 
they  said,  it  was  too  nnich  to  risk,  he  felt  very  proud  to 
place  it  in  a  big  savings-bank  in  the  city. 

Little  Pickety  happened  to  be  sent  one  day  t(j  the  Superin- 


SHCLTERED. 


SPECIMEX  ABABS.  459 

tendent's  sitting-room ;  he  knocked  at  tlie  door,  and  heard 
a  harsh  voice  cry  :  — 

"  Come  in  !  " 

So  he  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

To  his  surprise,  he  found  no  one  in  the  cozy,  tasteful  little 
room.  But  a  deep,  sepulchral  voice  from  a  dark  corner  of 
the  room  asked  :   "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

The  little  street-rover  was  not  afraid  of  human  enemies, 
but  of  ghosts  he  had  heard  many  a  fearful  story ;  and  he 
now  began  to  quake  in  his  shoes.  Suddenly,  however,  he 
discovered,  in  a  cage  in  the  corner,  a  strange,  weird-looking 
bird,  about  as  large  as  a  crow,  dark  as  night,  Avith  a  most 
beautiful  metallic  lustre  on  its  feathers.  The  bird  held  its 
great  head  sidewise,  and,  after  peering  at  the  boy  in  a  most 
searching  fashion  for  a  minute,  it  unexpectedly  exclaimed,, 
in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  misery  :  — 

"  P-o-o-r  M-i-7i-o  !  "  and  again  :  "  M-i-n-o  w-a-n-t-s  a  drink 
of  w-a-ter ! "  with  various  other  plaintive  speeches,  which 
seemed  to  come  from  the  throat  of  some  stout,  heavy  alder- 
man. The  creature  ended  by  whistling,  in  not  at  all  a 
melancholy  manner,  that  lively  air  called  "  Captain  Jinks."' 

Pickety  ran  back  in  great  haste  to  describe  his  wonderful 
discovery  to  his  comrades,  when  Mr.  Calder  brought  down 
the  cage  among  them,  and  it  was  a  source  of  endless  amuse- 
ment, as  it  often  had  been  before  to  other  sets  of  lads.  The 
mischievous  boys  took  special  delight  in  having  Mino  in 
the  schoolroom ;  for  whenever  the  Superintendent  had 
begun  a  prayer,  or  was  making  some  serious  remarks,  the 
bird  was  sure  to  give  vent  to  an  unearthly  scream,  or  to 
call  out  in  its  harsh  voice :  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  or  otherwise 
break  in  upon  the  sobriety  of  the  occasion. 

Pickety  was  especially  touched,  one  day,  by  seeing  poor 
sick  women  and  children  come  up  to  Mr.  Calder's  desk  for 
the    little    bouquets    of    flowers    furnished    to    the    Flower- 


460  srnEET  arabs  Axi)  auTTEE  snipes. 

Mission  by  kind  people  in  the  country.  Tlie  lad  knew  that 
these  beautifnl  gifts  were  carried  home  to  the  dark  cellars 
and  miserable  attics  of  that  neighborhood,  and  that  these 
bunches  of  bright,  sweet-smelling  flowers  came  like  gifts 
from  God,  gladdening  the  bedside  of  many  a  sick  and  dying- 
creature  in  the  poor  quarter  around  the  Lodging-House. 
Pickety  had  now  lost  much  of  his  former  Avolfish,  sayage 
nature :  he  did  not  wish  to  go  back  to  liis  jungle  and  den  ; 
he  had  learned  to  eat  with  his  knife  and  fork,  and  to  sleep 
in  a  bed,  like  a  civilized  human  being;  he  was  less  cunning 
but  more  bright,  and  was  kind  to  other  boys ;  he  had  begun 
to  hiwe  a  desire  to  earn  and  own  something,  and  to  get  oji 
in  the  Avorld.  Besides,  he  had  some  idea  of  religion,  and 
a  great  longing  to  be  considered  a  manly  fellow;  and  he  was 
beginning  to  read  in  books. 

At  length,  one  day,  the  Superintendent  called  him  and 
told  him  he  could  not  be  always  in  the  Lodging-House,  for 
they  did  not  keep  boys  long,  and  he  must  soon  strike  out 
by  himself  and  endeavor  to  make  his  own  way  in  the  world. 

The  Superintendent  also  explained  to  the  bright  young 
lad  that  the  best  possible  employment  for  a  young  working- 
boy  in  this  country  was  farming,  and  that  there  were  kind- 
hearted  farmers  in  the  West  who  would  be  glad  to  take  him. 
and  teach  him  their  l)usiness,  giving  him  at  first  only  clothing 
and  food,  l)nt  paying  liim  fair  wages  later  on.  In  this  way 
he  would  have  (for  the  first  time  in  his  life)  a  home,  and 
might  groAA'  up  with  the  fariner's  family,  and  share  in  all  the 
good  things  they  had. 

Pickety  at  first  thought  he  might  be  sent  where  bears 
woidd  hunt  him,  oj-  Indians  catch  him,  and  that  he  would 
earn  very  little  and  would  lose  all  the  sights  and  fun  of  New 
York,  so  he  was  almost  afraid  to  go;  but,  on  hearing  all 
about  it,  and  seeing  that  he  would  never  come  to  much  in 
the  city,  and  especially  hoping  to  get  more  education  in  the 


SPECIMEN  ARABS.  461 

West,  and  by-aiid-l)y  to  own  a  bit  of  land  for  liimself,  he 
resolved  to  join  a  party  under  one  of  the  Western  agents 
of  the  Children's  Aid  Society  and  go  to  Kansas  —  which 
to  the  New  York  boy  seems   the  best  State  in  the    West. 

We  have  not  time  and  space  to  follow  his  fortunes  there; 
everything  was  strange  to  him,  and  he  made  ([ueer  work 
of  his  duties  in  a  farmer's  house ;  but  the  strangest  thing 
of  all  to  him  was  to  be  in  a  kind,  Christian  family.  He 
wondered  what  made  them  all  so  good,  and  he  began  to 
think  he  would  like  to  be  as  they  were,  and  most  of  all  like 
the  One  he  had  heard  of  in  the  Lodging-House  meeting. 

He  was  careful  to  write  to  his  New  York  friends  about 
his  new  home,  and  here  is  one  of  the  letters  received  from 
him,  after  he  had  been  in  the  West  a  few  months :  — 

— — ,  — — ,  Kansas. 

Mr.  Macy:  Dear  Sir,  —  I  write  you  these  few  lines,  hoping  you  are 
in  good  health  at  present,  and  not  forgetting  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen 
that  I  remember  in  the  Children's  Aid  Society.  I  am  getting  on  splen- 
did with  my  studic^s  at  sciiool,  and  I  send  you  my  montlily  report,  but 
please  return  it,  as  I  want  to  keep  all  my  reports.  I  have  a  good  place 
and  like  my  home,  and  am  glad  I  came. 

The  first  time  I  rode  a  horse  bare-back,  he  slung  me  oft"  over  his  head 
and  made  me  sick  for  a  week.  I  also  liad  diphtlieria  but  I  am  all  right 
again  and  in  good  health,  and  can  ride  or  gallop  a  horse  as  fast  as  any 
man  in  town.  AVhen  summei'  comes  I  will  learn  to  plow  and  sow,  and 
do  farmer's  work.  I  will  get  good  wages  out  here.  It  is  a  nice  countr}^, 
for  there  is  no  Indians,  or  bears,  or  other  wild  animals  —  except  prairie- 
wolves,  and  you  can  scare  them  with  anything. 

If  a  boy  wants  a  good  liome,  he  can  come  here  and  have  plenty  of 
fun..  I  have  fun  with  the  mules,  horses,  pigs,  and  dogs.  No  pegging- 
stones  at  ragpickers  or  tripping  up  men  or  tramps  in  the  Bowery  or  Citj- 
Hall  Park.  "^ 

Tell  ''Banty""I  send  liim  my  best  respects.  Tell  him  it  is  from 
"Pickety,*"  and  he  will  know  me.  Yours  truly,  . 

He  learned  his  farm-work  fast  and  soon  made  himself  very 
useful ;  the  next  winter  he  went  to  school  again,  and  became 
a  very  good  scholar.     He  knew  how  to  nutke  money,  too  : 


462  STBEET  ABABS  ANDUniTTEIt  SNIPES. 

when  the  farmer  gave  him  a  calf,  or  a  lamb,  or  a  sheep,  he 
took  good  care  of  it,  and  by-and-by  sold  it,  and  Ijought  other 
stock  with  the  proceeds,  and  in  this  way,  after  a  few  years, 
lie  had  saved  a  considerable  sum.  With  this  he  bought  some 
"  Government  land,"  on  which  he  built  a  shanty  ;  and  so  he 
began  to  be  a  "landed  proprietor."' 

He  was  no  longer  ''  Pickety,"  but  had  a  Christian  name, 
and  for  his  last  name  .lie  took  that  of  the  kind  people  to 
whom  he  felt  like  a  son.  He  had  acquired  a  fair  education, 
too  ;  and  the  neighbors  liked  and  respected  the  "  New  York 
orphan,"  as  they  called  him.  He  had  quite  lost  his  wolfish 
nature  by  this  time,  and  now  had  a  new  one,  which  had  come 
to  him  from  the  good  Being  he  had  heard  of  in  the  Lodging- 
House,  through  the  civilizing,  Christian  influences  that  had 
been  thrown  around  him.  And  here  we  will  leave  him  — 
a  thriving;  farmer  on  his  own  land. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

SAVE    THE    CHILDREN. 

A  Lost  "  'Ittle  Dirl."  —  Canou  Farrar's  Earnest  Plea.  —  Who  FiUs  the  Gaps?  —  Shameful 
Neglect.  —  Accident.  —  Terrible  Cruelty. —Absolute  Death.  —  Besides  there  is  Sin. 

—  Save  the  Chihlron.  —  Br.  Xewton's  IlajTowing  Story.  — The  Foaming  Ton'ent.  — 
"I  Saw  them  all  rerish."  — The  Real  Trouble.  — The  Old  Man's  Tragic  Tale.— 
Mourning  a  Mother  and  Wife.  —  "I  Demanded  Food."  —  The  Shocking  Blow.  —  A 
Wild  Laugh  and  Pleading  3Ioans.  —  Frozen  to  Death.  —  The  Raving  Maniac.  — 
"Sign  it, Young  IVIan,  Sign  it."  — The  Discovery. —  A  Word  About  Tramps. — 
Incurably  Lazy.  —  A  Field  for  the  Home  Missionary.  —  The  Brave  Hussar.  — 
An  Honored  Soldier.  —  Charlie  Ross.  —  The  Countess  of  Bel ville.  —  Charlie's 
Prayer.  —  The  Missing  Child.  —  A  Sorrowing  l[other.  —  Seeking  Comfort  from  God. 

—  The  Young  Sweep.- Anxious  Questioning.  —  The  Marvelous  Discovery.  —  "  My 
Child!  My  Child !"  — Lady  Belville's  Charities.  —  Dr.  Pentecost's  "Arab."  — 
Wishing  to  be  (?oof/ej-.  —  Changing  Masters. —  "  You  Bet  I  Would!  "  — Johnny's 
Prayer.  —  Are  You  Seeking  to  Save  ? 

A  LITTLE  child  Avas  once  picked  up  on  tlie  streets  of 
Chicago  by  a  kind-hearted  policeman,  who  said  to 
her :  "  I  'ra  afraid  you  're  lost,  my  dear."  "  Oh,  no,"  cried 
the  little  one,  confidently,  "  I  'm  here."  "  Yes ;  but  where  is. 
your  mother  ?  "  Then  came  the  tears  thick  and  fast,  as  she 
cried :  "  Oh  !  mamma,  mamma,  your  'ittle  dirl  is  lost ! " 
Alas,  what  a  sad  word  is  this, — lost,  lost^  lost! 

'  I  am  strongly  convinced  that  if  a  proportionate  amount  of 
means  and  effort  now  given  to  the  reclamation  of  adults 
were  directed  toward  the  salvation  of  children,  there  would 
be  more  encouraging  and  more  enduring  results.  Not  that 
any  effort  for  the  former  class  should  be  relaxed,  but  that 
additional  and  more  energetic  work  be  done  to  elevate  the 
material  out  of  which  arise  the  dangerous  classes. 
~  Intemperance  as  a  tidal  wave  has  desolated  many  a  home, 
and  swept  out  into  the  seething  waters  many  a  child.  At  a 
meeting  in  Exeter  Hall,  London,  Canon  Farrar  made  an 
earnest  plea  on  behalf  of  the  children,  in  which  he  said :  — 


404  STBEET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEB  SAUPES. 

In  working  for  the  children  3-011  are  working  for  the 
future ;  you  are  working  in  a  region  which  is  a  region  of 
hope.  We  have  in  Engiand,  it  is  said,  six  luindred  thousand 
drunkards.  Well,  now,  as  those  unhappy  druidvards  go  too 
often  preniaturel}'  to  a  druidvard's  grave,  who  is  it  that  fills 
up  the  gaps? 

The  gaps  are  filled  up  by  those  who  are  now  sweet  and 
innocent  children  —  merry  and  honest  boys  and  girls.  God 
grant  that  no  sweet  and  innocent  children  of  ours  shall  eyer 
go  to  add  to  the  number  of  that  fearfully  recruited  army. 

I  will  tell  you  for  a  few  moments  what  it  is  to  which 
children  are  exposed,  and  what  it  is  from  which  we  are 
trying  to  save  them.  In  the  first  instance,  they  are  exposed 
to  the  most  shameful  neglect.  Go  into  the  low  quarters  of 
Glasgow,  the  filthy  l)ack  streets  of  Liverpool,  the  foul  fever- 
slums  of  almost  any  of  t)ur  great  cities,  and  there  you  will 
see  bright-eyed,  tattered,  ill-fed  children  growing  up  amid 
the  reek  of  gin  and  amid  scenes  of  blasphemy,  in  low, 
infamous  rooms,  and  in  low,  infamous  streets,  dirty,  dissolute, 
and  depraved  —  the  veiy  seed-plot  of  our  future  criminals  — 
growing  up  without  any  parental  control  whatever. 

It  is  not  only  shameful  neglect  to  which  they  are  exposed 
—  they  are  also  exposed  daily  and  weekly  to  accident.  Not 
long  ago  a  driver  was  driving  through  Southwark  in  the 
heavy,  brutal  way  in  which  drunkards  do  drive  sometimes 
through  the  streets  of  London,  and  there  was  crossing  the 
road  at  the  moment  a  poor  Avoman  with  a  little  babe  of 
eleven  months  in  her  arms,  and  slie  was  also  leading  by  the 
hand  a  little  girl  of  four  years  old.  The  drunken  brute 
drove  over  them,  terribly  injuring  the  woman,  killing  tlie 
babe,   and  breaking  the  leg  of  the  girl  of  foiu'  years. 

And  they  are  not  only  exposed  to  accident,  but  also  to 
terrible  cruelty.  In  this  very  city  a  week  ago,  in  this 
-civilized     Christian     society,    a     horrified    spectator    saw   a 


SAVE  THE  CHILD  BEN.  465 

woman  ]u)l(ling  up  by  tlie  legs  a  little  child  of  five  inonths 
old,  and  wlien  remonstrated  with  slie  dropped  the  cliild 
upon  the  pavement  and  ran  away.  And  they  are  not 
only  exposed  to  accident  and  cruelty,  but  also  to  absolute 
death.  I  believe  that  every  single  year  in  England  dozens 
—  more  than  dozens  —  scores,  ay,  and  even  liundreds,  of 
children  are  killed,  by  being  overlaid  by  their  drunken 
parents.  And  the  accident- wards,  as  they  are  called,  of  hos- 
2)itals  will  tell  you  Iiow  frequently  little  boys  and  girls  are 
brought  in  terribly  bui-Vied  over  neck  and  face  and  hands 
because  they  have  been  intrusted  to  drunken  Avomen  or 
neglected  by  drunken  mothers.  I  do  most  deliberately 
declare  that,  in  my  distinct  conviction,  more  children  are 
sacrificed  every  year  in  England  to  the  awful  Moloch  of 
drink  than  were  ever  burned  alive  in  the  worst  days  of 
Judean  apostasy  to  ]\Ioloch  in  the  Valley  of  the  Children 
of  Hinnom. 

Now,  let  us  ask  whether  there  can  be  anytliing  worse  than 
all  this  neglect  and  accident  and  cruelty  and  disease  and 
death  ?  Yes  :  there  is  something  worse  than  all  this :  there 
is  sin.  Disease  and  accident  and  cruelty  and  death  may 
maim  and  torture  the  body,  murder  and  suicide  may  end  the 
life,  but  sin  blasts  and  corrwpts  the  soul.,  and  many  and  many 
a  drunkard's  child  in  England  is  being  trained  up  deliberately 
in  the  habits  of  sin.  How  unspeakably  distressing  was  the 
case  which  occurred  only  tlie  other  day  at  Lambeth.  A 
woman  of  twenty-six,  wdth  her  child,  was  brought  up  before 
the  court  for  stealing  glasses  from  a  tavern.  In  the  court  the 
father  was  present.  The  little  child  ran  to  its  father's  arms. 
The  father  burst  into  tears,  and  said  :  "  I  have  always  been 
an  honest  man,  and  I  have  worked  for  my  bread.  It  has  all 
been  of  no  use.  My  wife  has  drunk  away  all  my  earnings. 
She  has  trained  my  child,  as  you  see,  and  has  left  me, over- 
whelmed with  debt  on  every  side." 


466  STREET  ABABS  A\D  G  UTTEIt  SNIPES. 

Save  the  children:  Go  home,  and  remember  that  these 
little  children  are  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood,  and  the  same 
hearts  and  nature,  and  as  full  of  eternity  and  immortality  as 
those  little  cliildren  on  Avhose  rosy  and  innocent  faces  you 
look  when  you  go  to  your  abodes. 

We  do  not  wonder  that  there  are  sad-eyed  men,  and  pale- 
faced  women,  Avhose  hearts  would  lighten  and  into  whose 
life  would  come  some  ray  of  comfort,  had  their  children  died 
a  natural  death  in  infancy.  Some  are  heart-broken  over  the 
waywardness  of  sons  and  daughters  living  in  disgrace ; 
while,  alas !  others  carry  terrible  secrets  locked  up  within 
their  breasts  of  the  unnatural  ending  of  the  lives  of  children 
once  happy  and  innocent  under  the  shelter  of  the  old  home- 
stead.    Dr.  Newton  tells  this  harrowing  story :  — 

A  company  of  Southern  ladies,  assembled  in  a  jiarlor,  were 
one  day  talking  about  their  different  troubles.  Each  one 
had  something  to  say  about  her  own  trials.  But  there  was 
one  in  the  company,  i)ale  and  sad  looking,  who  for  a  while 
said  nothing.      Suddenly  rousing  herself,  at  last  she  said:  — 

"My  friends,  you  don't  any  of  you  know  what  trouble  is." 

"  Will  you  please,  Mrs.  Gray,"  said  the  kind  voice  of  one 
who  knew  her  story,  "  tell  the  ladies  what  you  call  trouble  ?  " 

'*  I  will,  if  you  desire  it ;  for  in  the  words  of  the  prophet, 
'  I  am  the  one  who  hath  seen  affliction.' 

"  My  parents  were  very  well  off,  and  my  girlhood  was 
surrounded  by  all  the  comforts  of  life.  Every  wish  of  my 
heart  was  gratified,  and  I  was  cheerful  and  happy. 

"At  the  age  of  nineteen  I  married  one  whom  I  loved  more 
than  all  the  world  beside.  Our  home  was  retired;  but  the 
sun  never  shone  upon  a  lovelier  spot,  or  a  happier  house- 
hold. Years  rolled  on  peacefully.  Five  lovely  cliildren  sat 
around  our  table,  and  a  little  curly  head  still  nestled  in  my 


SAVE  THE  CHILDBEX.  467 

bosom.  One  night,  about  sundown,  one  of  tliose  fierce  black 
storms  came  on  which  are  so  common  to  our  climate.  For 
many  hours  tlie  rain  poured  down  incessantly.  Morning 
dawned,  but  still  the  elements  raged.  The  country  around 
us  was  overflowed.  The  little  stream  near  our  dwelling- 
became  a  foaming  torrent.  Before  we  were  aware  of  it,  our 
house  was  surrounded  by  water.  I  managed,  with  my  babe, 
to  reach  a  little,  elevated  spot,  where  the  thick  foliage  of 
a  few  wide-spreading  trees  afforded  some  protection,  while 
my  husband  and  sons  strove  to  save  what  they  could  of  our 
property.  At  last  a  fearful  surge  swept  away  my  husband, 
and  he  never  rose  again.  Ladies,  no  one  ever  loved  a 
husband  more  ;    but  tJiat  was  not  trouble. 

"■  Presently  my  sons  saw  their  danger,  and  the  struggle  for 
life  became  their  only  consideration.  They  were  as  brave, 
loving  boys  as  ever  blessed  a  mother's  heart;  and  I  watched 
their  efforts  to  escape  witli  such  agony  as  only  mothers  can 
feel.  They  were  so  far  off  that  I  could  not  speak  to  them ; 
but  I  could  see  them  closing  nearer  and  nearer  to  each  other, 
as  their  little  island  grew  smaller  and  smaller. 

''  The  swollen  river  raged  fearfully  around  the  huge  trees. 
Dead  branches,  upturned  trunks,  wrecks  of  houses,  drown- 
ing cattle,  and  inasses  of  rubbish,  all  went  floating  past  us. 
My  boj^s  waved  their  hands  to  me,  and  then  pointed  upwards. 
I  knew  it  was  their  farewell  signal ;  and  you,  mothers,  can 
imagine  my  anguish.  I  saw  them  perish — all  perish.  Yet 
that  was  not  trouble. 

"  I  hugged  my  baby  close  to  my  heart ;  and  when  the 
water  rose  to  my  feet,  I  climbed  into  the  low  branches  of  the 
tree,  and  so  kept  retiring  before  it,  till  the  hand  of  God 
stayed  the  waters  that  they  should  rise  no  further.  I  was 
saved.  All  my  worldly  possessions  were  swept  away  all 
my  earthly  hopes  blighted.     Yet  that  was  not  trouble. 

"  My  baby  was  all  I  had  left  on  earth.     I  labored  day  and 


4G8  STUEET  ARABS  AND   GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

night  to  support  him  and  myself,  and  sought  to  train  him  in 
the  light  Avay ;  but,  as  lie  grew  older,  evil  companions  won 
him  away  from  me.  He  ceased  to  care  for  his  mother's 
counsels  ;  he  would  sneer  at  her  kind  entreaties  and  agoniz- 
ing prayers.  He  became  fond  of  drinking.  He  left  my 
humble  roof,  that  he  might  be  unrestrained  in  his  evil  Avays. 
And  at  last,  one  night,  when  heated  by  wine,  he  took  the- 
life  of  a  fellow-creature.  He  ended  his  days  upon  the 
gallows  !  God  had  filled  my  cup  of  sorrow  before  ;  now  it 
ran  over.  That  was  trouble,  my  friends,  such  as  I  hope  the 
Lord  in  mercy  may  spare  you  from  ever  knowing  !  " 

Many  years  ago,  a  temperance  meeting  was  held  in  a 
certain  village.  A  little  boy,  who  lived  in  the  village,  was 
very  anxious  to  go,  and  persuaded  his  father  to  take  him. 
The  boy  never  forgot  that  meeting,  and  he  wrote  the  account 
of  it  years  afterwards.  One  of  the  speakers  at  the  meeting 
Avas  an  old  man.  His  hair  AA^as  Avliite,  and  his  l)row  furroAA'cd 
Avith  age  and  sorroAA\     When  he  arose  to  speak,  he  said :  ■ — 

''My  friends,  I  am  an  old  man,  standing  alone  at  the  end. 
of  life's  journey.  Tears  are  in  my  eyes,  and  deep  sorroAv  is 
in  my  heart.  I  am  Avithout  friends,  or  home,  or  kindred  on 
earth.  It  Avas  not  ahvaA's  so.  Once  I  had  a  mother.  Witk 
her  heart  crushed  Avith  sorrow,  she  Avent  down  to  her  graA'e. 
I  once  had  a  Avife :  a  fair,  angel-hearted  creature  as  ever 
smiled  in  an  earthly  home.  Her  blue  eye  grew  dim,  as  the 
floods  of  sorroAV  AA'ashed  aAvay  its  brightness ;  and  her  tender 
heart  1  wrung  till  every  fibre  Avas  broken.  I  once  had  a 
noble  boy  ;  l)ut  he  Avas  driA'en  from  the  ruins  of  his  home, 
and  my  old  heart  yearns  to  knoAV  If  he  yet  Ka'cs.  I  once 
had  a  babe,  a  sweet,  loA'ely  babe ;  but  these  hands  destroyed 
it,  and  now  it  lives  Avith  Him  wlio  loA^etli  the  little  ones.  Do 
not  spurn  me,  my  friends,"'  continued  the  old  man.  "  There 
is  light  in    my    evening    sky.       The    spirit    of    my    motlier 


SAV?:  THE  CHILDPiEX.  469 

rejoices  over  the  return  of  lier  jjrodigal  son.  The  injured 
wife  smiles  upon  him  who  turns  back  again  to  virtue  and 
honor.  The  child-angel  visits  me  at  nightfall,  and  I  seem  to 
feel  his  tiny  hands  upon  mj  feverish  cheek.  My  brave  boy, 
if  he  yet  lives,  would  forgive  the  sorrowing  old  man  for 
treatment  that  drove  him  out  into  the  world,  and  the  blow 
that  maimed  liini  for  life.  God  forgive  me  for  the  ruin  I 
have  brought  upon  all  that  were  about  me. 

"•  I  was  a  drunkard.  From  wealth  and  respectability,  I 
plunged  into  poverty  and  shame.  I  dragged  my  family  down 
with  me.  For  years  I  saw  the  cheek  of  my  wife  grow  pale, 
and  her  step  grow  weary.  I  left  her  alone  to  struggle  for  the 
children,  while  I  was  drinking  and  rioting  at  the  tavern. 
She  never  complained,  though  she  and  the  children  often 
went  hungry   to  bed. 

"  One  New  Year  night  I  retiirned  late  to  the  hut  where 
charity  had  given  us  shelter.  My  wife  was  still  up,  and 
shivering  over  the  coals.  I  demanded  food.  She  told  me 
there  was  none,  and  then  burst  into  tears.  I  fiercely  ordered 
her  to  get  some.  She  turned  her  eyes  sadly  upon  me,  the 
tears  falling  fast  over  her  pale  cheek.  At  this  moment  the 
child  in  its  cradle  awoke,  and  uttered  a  cut  of  hunger, 
startling  the  despairing  mother,  and  making  new  sorrow 
in  her  breaking  heart. 

"■ '  We  have  no  food,  James;  we  have  had  none  for  several 
days.  I  have  nothing  for  the  babe.  Oh!  my  once  kind 
husband,  must  we  starve  ? ' 

'"■  That  sad,  pleading  face,  and  those  streaming  eyes,  and 
the  feeble  wail  of  the  cliihl,  maddened  me:  and  I  —  yes,  I 
struck  her  a  fierce  blow  in  the  face,  and  she  fell  forward  upon 
the  hearth.  It  seemed  as  if  the  furies  of  hell  were  raging 
in  my  bosom ;  and  the  feeling  of  the  wrong  I  had  committed 
added  fuel  to  the  flames.  I  had  never  struck  my  wife  before, 
but  now  some  terrible  impulse  drove  me  on,  and  I  stooped 


470  STBEKT  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

down,  as  well  as  I  could  in  luy  drunken  state,  and  clenched 
both  my  hands  in  her  hair. 

" '  For  mercy's  sake,  James ! '  exclaimed  my  wife,  as  she 
looked  up  into  my  fiendish  countenance  ;  '  you  will  not  kill 
us !  you  will  not  harm  Willie  ?  '  and  she  sprang  to  the  cradle 
and  grasped  i:im  in  her  arms.  I  caught  her  again  by  the 
hair  and  dragged  lier  to  the  door,  and,  as  I  lifted  the  latch, 
the  wind  bui'st  in  with  a  cloud  of  snow.  With  a  fiendish 
yell,  I  still  dragged  her  on,  ai:d  hurled  her  out  amid  the 
darkness  and  storm.  Then,  with  a  wild  laugh,  I  closed  the 
door  and  fastened  it.  Her  pleading  moans  and  the  sharp  cry 
of  her  babe,  mingled  with  tlie  Avail  of  the  blast.  But  my 
horrible  work  was  not  yet  complete. 

"  I  turned  to  the  bed  where  my  oldest  son  was  lying, 
snatched  him  from  his  slumbers,  and,  against  his  half- 
awakened  struggles,  opened  the  door  and  thrust  him  out. 
In  the  agony  of  fear  he  uttered  that  sacred  name  I  was  no 
longar  worthy  to  bear.  He  called  me  —  father  !  and 
locked  his  fingers  in  my  side-pocket.  I  could  not  wrench 
that  gras})  away  ;  but,  with  the  cruelty  of  a  fiend,  I  shut  the 
door  upon  his  arm,  and,  seizing  my  knife,  severed  it  at  the 
wrist. 

"It  was  morning  when  I  awoke,  and  the  storm  had  ceased. 
I  looked  around  to  tlie  accustomed  place  for  my  wife.  As  I 
missed  her,  a  dim,  dark  scene,  as  of  some  horrible  lughtmare, 
came  over  me.  I  thought  it  must  be  a  fearful  dream,  but 
inyoluntarily  opened  tlie  outside  door  witli  a  shuddering 
dread.  As  the  docn-  opened,  the  snow  burst  in,  and  some- 
thing fell  across  the  threshold  with  a  dull,  heayy  sound. 
My  blood  shot  like  melted  lava  through  my  veins,  and  I 
covered  my  eyes  to  shut  out  the  sight.  It  was  —  O  God! 
how  horrible! — it  was  my  own  loving  wife  and  her  babe, 
frozen  to  death  I  With  true  mother's  love,  she  had  bowed 
herself   over    the    child  to    shield    it,   and    wrapped    all    her 


SAVE  THE  CHILDBEX.  471 

clothing  aroimd  it,  leaving  her  own  person  exposed  to  the 
.storm.  She  had  placed  her  hair  over  the  face  of  the  child, 
.and  the  sleet  had  frozen  it  to  the  pale  cheek.  The  frost 
was  white  on  the  lids  of  its  half-opened  eyes,  and  upon  its 
tiny  fingers. 

'•'■  I  never  knew  what  became  of  my  brave  boy." 

Here  the  old  man  bowed  his  head  and  wept ;  and  all  in  the 
house  wept  with  liim.  Then,  in  the  low  tones  of  heart- 
broken sorrow,  he  concluded:  — 

"I  was  arrested,  and  for  long  months  I  was  a  raving 
maniac.  Wlien  I  recovered,  I  was  sentenced  to  the  peniten- 
tiary for  ten  years ;  but  this  was  nothing  to  the  tortures  I 
have  endured  in  my  own  bosom.  And  now  I  desire  to  spend 
the  little  remnant  of  my  life  in  striving  to  warn  others  not 
to  enter  a  path  which  had  been  so  dark  and  fearful  to  me.'' 

When  tiie  old  man  had  finished,  the  temperance  pledge 
was  produced,  and  he  asked  the  people  to  come  forward  and 
sign  it.  A  young  man  started  from  his  seat  and  pressed 
forward  to  sign  the  pledge.  As  he  took  the  pen  in  hand,  he 
hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Sign  it,  young  man,  sign  it,"  said  the  venerable  speaker. 
"  Angels  would  sign  it,  I  would  write  my  name  in  blood 
ten  thousand  times,  if  it  would  undo  the  ruin  I  have  wrought 
and  bring  l)ack  my  loved  and  lost  ones." 

The  young  man  wrote  —  "  Mortimer  Hudson."  The  old 
man  looked.  He  wiped  his  eyes,  and  looked  again.  His 
face  flushed  a  fiery  red,  and  then  a  deathlike  paleness  came 
over  it. 

"  It  is  —  no,  it  cannot  be  ;  yet  how  strange  !  "  he  muttered. 
"  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  that  was  the  name  of  my  brave  boy." 

The  young  man  treml)led  and  held  up  his  left  arm,  from 
wliich  the  hand  had  been  severed. 

Tliey  looked  for  a  moment  in  each  other's  eyes  ;  then  the 
old  man  exclaimed  :  — 


472  SrHEET  AEABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

"  My  own  injured  boy  *  " 
The  young  man  cried  out :  — 
"•  My  poor,  dear  father  !  " 

Then  they  fell  upon  each  other's  neck  and  wept,  till  it 
seemed  as  if  their  souls  would  mingle  into  o]ie. 

There  are  other  foes  of  little  children  ;  there  are  human 
hands  stretched  toward  them,  not  to  defend,  but  to  destroy ; 
not  to  shield  them  from  harm,  but  to  steal  them  from  home. 
Gypsies,  tramps,  and  thieves,  who  jn-owl  around  our  houses,  are 
more  dangerous  than  the  Red  Indians,  and  are  not  less  com- 
passionate. These  hordes  of  roaming  adventurers,  beggars, 
and  chronic  idlers  are  to  be  feared.  They  will  pounce  on  a 
helpless  child  as  a  hawk  swoops  on  a  chicken,  or  an  eagle 
bears  away  a  land).  Whether  the  motive  is  a  prospective 
reward,  or  servitude,  these  abducting  villains  have  blasted 
tlie  hopes,  and  withered  the  joy,  of  many  a  home,  and 
through  their  coarse  guardianship  have  gradually  changed 
the  tender  sapling  into  a  gnarled  and  stunted  tree. 

I  suppose  there  are  honest  tramps,  who  take  the  road 
seeking  employment,  but  generally  they  go  about  seeking 
what  they  may  devour.  The  rascalities  of  tramps  have  been 
so  abundant,  so  inhuman,  and  so  daring,  that,  as  a  class,  I 
can  say  nothing  good  for  them.  From  their  uncoml)ed 
matted  locks,  to  their  dirty  calloused  feet,  from  central  heart 
(or  rather  stomach)  to  extremest  member,  they  are  incurably 
lazy.  When  I  have  known  these  illconditioned  vagrants 
toss  the  well-buttered  bread  behind  the  hedge,  after  leaving 
the  door  at  which  they  begged,  and  recite  their  lying  stories 
at  the  next  neighbor's  with  the  hope  of  receiving  money; 
when  reading  of  their  infamous  deeds  and  their  brutal  out- 
rages, I  have  wished  for  the  power  to  frame  and  execute 
such  laws  as  would  deal  very  summarily  with  them.  The 
tramp    is    conscienceless  and   cowardly  —  a   vicious    animal. 


SOMEBODY'S    BABY. 


SAVU  THE  CIIILDBEX.  473 

always  dangerous,  seldom,  if  ever,  to  be  trusted.  I  know 
what  grace  can  do  for  the  vilest,  but  where  grace  reigns,  the 
tramp-life  dies.  Dickens  must  have  met  Avith  some  of  these 
shiftless  vagabonds ;  his  vivid  description  shows  he  liad 
observed  them  to  some  purpose.  "-The  pitiless  rascal  blights 
the  summer  road  as  he  maunders  on  between  the  luxuriant 
hedges,  Avhere  even  the  Avild  convolvulus  and  rose  and 
sweetl^riar  are  tlie  worse  of  liis  going  by,  and  need  time  to 
recover  from  the  taint  of  him  in  the  air." 

To  watch  such  a  spectre  of  a  man  swaggering  along  the 
highway,  stirs  our  indignation ;  but  when  we  see  tliem 
accompanied  by  children  (their  own  or  others',  who  can 
tell?)  with  innocence  written  across  their  guileless  faces,, 
indignation  changes  to  pity  and  sadness,  that  such  opposite 
elements  should  be  in  alliance.  Wliat  can  ])e  the  fate  of 
such  children  ?  In  only  a  few  brief  years  the  petrifying 
process  will  have  done  its  work,  and  the  innocent  child, 
becomes  an  incarnate  fiend. 

Here,  then,  is  a  field  for  the  home  missionary.  It 
will  need  a  wise  tactician  to  decoy,  or  win,  from  the 
tramp  that  boy  or  girl  whom  lie  regards  as  essential  to  liini- 
self.  Sometimes  it  is. accomplished  by  a  bold  dash  and  a 
daring  effort.  When  a  child  is  exposed  to  physical  danger 
our  instincts  are  quickened  to  save  it  ;  why  not  also  attempt 
a  rescue  from  a  far  worse  fate  ? 

"The  following  incident  occurred  during  a  general  review 
of  the  Austrian  cavalry,  not  long  ago.  Not  far  off  some 
thousands  of  cavalry  were  in  line.  ^V  little  child,  a  girl  of 
not  more  than  four  years,  standing  in  the  front  row  of  the 
spectators,  from  some  cause  rushed  out  into  the  open  field 
just  as  the  squadron  of  hussars  came  sweeping  around  from 
the  main  body.  They  made  a  detour  for  the  purpose  of 
saluting  the  Empress,  whose  carriage  was  drawn  up  on  that 
part  of  the  parade-ground.       Down  came  the    scjuadron    at 


471  STREET  ARABS  AXD  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

a  mad  gallop.  Direct!}'  under  the  feet  of  the  horse  was  the 
little  one, — anotlier  instant  must  seal  its  doom!  —  when  a 
stalwart  hussar,  who  Avas  in  the  front  line,  without  slackening- 
his  speed  or  losing  his  hold,  threw  himself  over  by  the  side 
of  his  horse's  neck,  seized  and  lifted  the  child,  and  placed  it 
in  safety  upon  his  saddle-how ;  and  this  he  did  without 
changing  his  })ace  or  breaking  the  correct  alignment  of  the 
squadron.  Ten  thousand  voices  hailed  with  rapturous 
applause  the  gallant  deed,  and  other  thousands  applauded 
Avhen  the}'  knew.  Two  ivomen  there  were  who  could  only 
sob  forth  their  gratitude  in  broken  accents  —  the  mother  and 
the  Empress;  and  a  proud  and  happy  moment  it  must  have 
been  for  the  hussar  when  his  Emperor,  taking  from  his  own 
breast  the  richly  enameled  Cross  of  the  Order  of  Maria 
Theresa,  hung  it  upon  the  breast  of  his  brave  and  gallant 
trooper." 

Tliat  was  indeed  a  reward  princely  l)estowed,  but  highly 
deserved.  It  was  an  nol)le  act,  done  in  an  instant,  yet  not 
forgotten  in  an  age.  So,  likewise,  to  save  a  child  from  sin 
and  sinful  surroundings  will  not  only  secure  the  approval  of 
heaven,  but  from  the  Master's  li})S  Avill  fall  the  gratifying 
sentence:  "Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant."  Such  an 
act  will  live  forever. 

The  numbers  of  children  who  have  been  stolen  from  their 
homes,  in  this  and  other  countries,  are  overwhelming.  The 
pathetic  story  of  Charlie  Ross,  abducted  in  broad  daylight 
from  under  the  shadow  of  his  home,  is  still  fresh  in  our 
memories.  I  have  t)Ccasionally  in  public  address  referred  to 
a  case  of  abduction,  the  particulars  of  which  I  had  not  fully 
known.  It  had  l)een  told- me  by  a  friend,  and  was  such 
a  graphic  illustration  of  answered  prayer,  that  I  was  more 
than  pleased  in  coming  across  the  incident  in  all  its  details 
j^ince  bea'inninu'  this  book. 


SAVE  THE  CIIILDpEX.  475 

The  Countess  of  Belville,  and  her  son  aged  eleven  years, 
were  sitting,  on  the  first  of  May,  in  a  magnificent  saloon  in 
her  London  residence,  at  the  head  of  a  long  table.  Around 
this  table,  filled  with  cakes,  sugar-plums,  etc.,  fifty  little 
chinniey-sweeps  were  seated,  with  clean  hands  and  faces,  and 
with  joyous  hearts,  singing,  — 

"Sweep  ho!  sweep  lio! 
From  the  bottom  to  the  top." 

Some  years  l)efore  this  anniversary  da}'.  Lady  Belville  liad 
a  son  about  five  years  old.  She  was  a  widow%  and  tliis  little 
boy  was  her  only  child.  Upon  her  little  Charles  she  had 
placed  all  her  affection,  and  this  child  had  become  tlie  sole 
object  of  her  thoughts  and  her  cares.  Tlie  great  desire  of 
the  heart  of  the  Countess  was  that  her  son  should  become 
pious  —  truly  converted  to  the  Lord.  She  prayed  without 
ceasing  that  God  would  toucli  the  heart  of  her  child,  and 
turn  it  toward  him.  The  more  she  prayed,  and  the  more 
pains  she  took,  the  farther  he  seemed  removed  from  the  good 
end  to '  which  she  wished  to  conduct  him.  He  was  idle, 
disobedient,  and  wilful,  and  but  little  disposed  to  attend  to 
the  subject  of  religion.  Whenever  the  Bible  ^vas  read  to 
him,  he  became  weary,  tliinking  of  other  things,  turning 
upon  his  seat,  and  gazing  at  the  furniture  of  the  room. 
When  she  required  him  to  repeat  his  morning  prayers,  he  said 
lie  Avanted  his  breakfast  first  ;  and  in  tlie  evening,  that  he 
was  too  sleepy,  and  wished  to  go  to  bed.  He  had  no  desire 
to  be  w'iser,  and  lie  had  no  wish  to  ask  (rod  to  teach  him, 
and  his  mother  could  never  be  satisfied  that  he  even  ever 
prayed  from  llie  al)undance  of  the  heart.  She  prayed 
often  herself,  and  she  greatly  desired  that  her  son  should 
pray  also.  Li  the  liope  of  encouraging  him,  she  composed 
some  prayers  for  Ifim  to  recite  each  night;  but  Charles  would 
never  learn  but.  one   of  them,  after  saying  which,  he   would 


476  STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEli  SXIPES. 

quickly  say  "  Aineii,""  aiul  go  to  bed.  "Lord,  ctmveit  me 
—  cluinge  my  heart;  teach  me  to  love  thee,  and  loye  my 
brethren  as  Jesus  Christ  loved  us.  Amen.""  The  poor 
mother  ^yept  much,  and  prayed  more  ;  but  Ave  must  say  that 
she  failed  to  correct  him. 

Her  weakness  emboldened  Charles  to  disobedience,  and  he 
every  day  became  more  wicked.  Lady  Belville,  seeing  that 
her  son  changed  not,  began  to  doubt  of  the  promises  of  God, 
and  to  her  eyes  he  seemed  to  fail  in  his  word ;  for  he  had 
said  in  many  passages  of  the  Bible  :  "  Call  upon  Me,  and  I 
will  ansAver." 

One  day,  as  usual,  she  Avas  plunged  in  tears,  A  ser\ant 
came  to  tell  her  that  for  an  hour  they  had  sought  for  Charles 
all  about  the  house  AAdthout  finding  him,  that  tlie  outer  gate 
had  been  kept  fastened,  and  that  the  child  liad  l)een  all  the 
morning  amusing  himself  alone  in  the  garden. 

You  can  imagine  the  anxiety  of  his  mother:  she  ran 
through  the  house,  the  garden,  the  neighborhood:  l)ut  no 
person  could  give  her  any  news  of  her  st)n.  She  sent  her 
serA'ants  to  seek  him  through  all  the  streets  of  the  city; 
she  sent  notices  to  the  authorities  ;  she  })ublished  in  all  the 
j)apers  the  disappearance  of  her  child,  and  offered  a  large 
reAA'ard  to  those  who  Avould  give  her  tidings  of  him. 

TAventy  different  persons  came  Avithin  a  fcAV  days  to  bring- 
her  intelligence  of  several  children  they  had  seen  ;  but  no  one 
brought  her  any  satisfactory  information.  One  luid  seen  a 
child  resembling  tlie  description  of  him,  Avho  departed  in 
a  post-chaise ;  another  had  seen  a  person  Aveeping  in  the 
streets,  and  asking  for  his  mother ;  a  third  pretended  to  have 
seen  a  little  boy  of  the  same  age,  clothed  exactly  in  the  same 
maimer,  amusing  himself  alone,  casting  stones  into  the  Avater, 
upon  the  liank  of  a  riA'er  ;  and  he  afHrmed,  tliatluiAdng  passed 
a  feAA^  moments  aftei-AA'ards,  he  Avas  not  to  l)e  seen. 

This  last  recital,  either  that  it  Avas  more  frightful  or  the 


SAVE  THE  CHILDREN.  477 

2:)orti-ait  given  of  the  child  had  more  resemblance  to  Charles, 
made  a  deep  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  mother,  who  no 
longer  donbted  that  it  was  her  son,  and  that  he  had  been 
drowned.  She  had,  moreover,  reasni  to  believe  it,  as  she 
learned,  not  long  after,  that  the  body  of  a  child  had  been 
fonnd  npon  the  river,  and  buried  in  a  little  hamlet  three 
leagues  from  the  city.  This  time,  well  persuaded  of  the 
death  of  lier  son,  the  poor  mother  thonght  of  nothing  bnt  to 
raise  a  tombstone  to  his  memory,  and  to  go  there  and  weep, 
and  pray  to  God  to  console  her.  She  wonld  have  wished  to 
l^ersuade  herself  that  her  child  was  not  very  wicked,  and 
that  he  had  at  least  some  good  qualities  to  redeem  his 
defects.  She  tried  to  remember  one  time  in  his  life  when  the 
little  Charles  had  uttered  one  prayer  from  the  heart ;  she 
repeated  to  herself  that  which  she  had  taught  him  ;  but 
alas  !  what  came  to  the  remembrance  of  the  poor  motlier  was 
always  the  recollection  of  his  disobedience  to  the  orders  of 
his  mother,  his  impatience  during  her  serious  reading,  and 
his  v/eariness  during  prayer.  Oh,  if  the  little  Charles  could 
have  known  how  much  grief  he  afterward  caused  his  mother, 
how  he  would  liave  wept !  Perhaps  he  wonld  not  have  been 
so  wicked  and  disobedient.  But  to  console  herself.  Lady 
Belville  wished  to  have  l)efore  her  eyes  the  sweetest  recollec- 
tion that  remained  to  lier  of  her  Cliarles.  She  caused  to  be 
sculptured  upon  a  tomb  a  young  child  kneeling,  and  had 
inscribed  upon  the  black  marble  this  prayer  :  "  Lord,  convert 
me  —  change  my  heart ;  teach  me  to  love  thee,  and  to  love 
my  brethren  as  Jesus  Christ  loved  us.     Amen.'' 

Now  one  year,  two  years,  three  years  passed  a\N'ay,  without 
bringing  any  solace  to  the  grief  of  the  Countess:  her  only 
happiness  upon  this  earth  (next  to  her  religious  duties)  was, 
whenever  she  met  a  child  of  the  age  that  Charles  would 
have  been  had  he  lived,  to  say  to  herself,  that  perhaps  it 
might  be  her  son,  and  that  she  was  falsely  persuaded  of  his 


478  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

death.  She  approached  every  such  child  and  examined  him 
with  care,  (|uestioned  him  with  eager  curiosity,  and  always 
ended  by  discovering,  with  sorrow,  that  the  child  was  not 
lier  son. 

One  day,  on  returning  from  the  country  (where  she  had 
been  passhig  some  weeks),  unexpected  by  her  domestics, 
who  were  occupied  in  cleaning  the  apartments,  she  saw  with 
surprise,  on  entering  the  saloon,  a  little  chimney-sweep  lean- 
ing against  the  mantle-shelf.  He  was  very  sorrowful ;  and 
in  spite  of  the  soot  which  covered  his  face  might  be  seen  his 
white  skin  and  his  extreme  thinness.  His  head  rested  upon 
his  breast ;  the  poor  child  was  weeping,  and  large  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks,  leaving  white  traces  upon  his  dark  face. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  child  ?  "  said  the  Countess. 

"Nothing,  madam — -it  is  nothing.  We  are  come  to  sweep 
your  chimney.  My  master  is  upon  the  roof  —  he  is  coming 
down." 

''  But  why  do  you  weep  ?  '" 

"  It  is  because,"  trying  to  restrain  his  tears,  "  it  is  be- 
cause "  — 

"  Take  courage,  my  boy,"'  said  the  good  lady ;  "  tell  me 
thy  troubles." 

"  It  is  because  my  master  will  beat  me  again." 

"  Again^  you  say  ;  does  he  beat  you  often  ?  " 

"  Almost  every  day,  madam." 

"And  for  what?" 

"  Because  I  don't  earn  money  enough.  When  I  return 
at  night,  after  having  cried  out  all  the  day  without  having 
obtained  any  work,  he  says  I  have  been  idle  ;  but  I  assure 
you,  madam,  it  is  not  my  fault.  I  cry  out  as  loud  as  I  can, 
and  nobo<ly  calls  me.  I  can't  force  people  to  let  me  sweep 
their  chinnieys."* 

"  But,  then,  every  day  does  not  pass  without  work,  and 
then  thy  master  does  not  whip  thee  ?  '"  said  the  Countess. 


SAVE  THE  CHILDBEN.  479 

"  Well,  madam,  then  he  says  to  me  that  I  don't  climb  fast 
enough  —  that  I  do  not  scrape  hard  enough ;  and  when 
I  come  down  he  strikes  me  again,  and  all  the  time  I  do  all 
that  I  can.  More  than  once  1  have  run  the  risk  of  falling  ; 
yesterday  I  hurt  my  leg ;  you  see,  inadani,  my  pantaloons 
are  worn  through  at  the  knees ;  "  and  the  poor  boy  wept 
bitterly. 

"  But,  then,  when  you  work  better  ?  "  said  the  good  lady. 

"  Oh,  when  I  work  better  he  is  content  to  scold  me." 

"  And  how  much  do  you  gain  each  day  ?  " 

"  Nothing  —  only  he  gives  me  my  food ;  but  so  little  that 
I  very  often  go  to  bed  hungry." 

"Ah!  well,  I  will  speak  to  thy  master." 

"  Ah  !  no,  madam  ;  he  will  beat  me  more  yet.  I  complain 
to  nobody,  but  in  the  evening  to  "  — 

"  To  whom  ?  " 

"To  God." 

"  And  what  do  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  ask  him  to  take  me  back  to  my  mother." 

"Tliou  hast,  then,  a  mother?  " 

"  O,  yes  I  and  a  very  good  mother ;  if  I  could  go  to  her, 
I  should  not  be  so  unhappy." 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  lives  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  recollect  only  one  house  —  one  garden.  See  !  see  I 
madam,  it  was  like  this.  The  trees  of  the  garden  were  seen 
through  the  windows  of  the  saloon,  as  you  see  these  poplars 
in  front.  The  chimney  was  on  the  right  hand  like  this,  the 
door  in  front;  and  my  mother  was  like  you  —  only  she  was 
handsome,  and  was  not  dressed  in  black  as  you  are." 

These  words  overcame  Lady  Belville.  A  sliivering  ran 
through  her  frame  ;  her  hands  trembled ;  she  could  scarcely 
stand  upon  her  feet.  She  sank  upon  the  sofa,  and  taking 
the  boy  by  one  hand,  she  drew  him  near  to  her,  and  con- 
tinued the  conversation. 


480  STBEET  ABABS  AXB  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

"  And  has  the  Lord  never  answered  yon,  my  chihl  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  madam  ;  bnt  lie  will  hear  me  one  day,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Sure  I  and  wiiy  ?  " 

'•  Because  he  has  said  so  in  his  Word." 

'•  You  have  confidence,  then,  in  prayer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam ;  because  I  have  already  been  heard." 

''  In  what  ?  " 

"  I  have  asked  God  to  make  me  better,  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  am  not  so  bad  as  formerly.  Now,  I  do  almost  all  that 
my  master  tells  me.  AVhen  I  can,  I  read  a  little  in  the  New 
Testament,  which  a  good  gentleman  gave  me  ;  and  I  pray 
every  day  with  pleasure." 

'•  With  pleasiure,  do  you  say  ?  " 

''  Yes,  with  pleasure ;  above  all,  when  I  repeat  the  prayer 
that  my  mother  taught  me  by  heart." 

'"And  what  is  that  prayer  ?  tell  it  me,  I  beseech  you." 

The  child  knelt  down,  joined  his  hands,  and  shedding 
some  tears,  he  said,  with  a  trembling  voice :  — 

"  Lord,  convert  me  —  change  my  heart ;  teach  me  to  love 
thee,  and  to  love  my  brethren  as  Jesus  Christ  loved  us. 
Amen." 

"My  child  I  my  child!"  cried  the  Countess,  pressing  the 
boy  in  her  arms  ;   "thou  art  my  son  Charles  I  " 

•'My  mother!"  said  the  child,  'Mvhere  is  she?  It  was 
thus  that  she  used  to  call  me  —  Charles !  Charles  I  " 

"  I  am  thy  mother,  I  tell  thee  !  "  and  sobs  stopped  the 
voices  of  tlie  mother  and  the  child.  They  both  wept,  but 
they  were  tears  of  joy.  The  motlier  knelt  b}'  the  side  of  the 
child,  and  exclaimed,  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart :  "  My  God  ! 
my  God !  forgive  me  for  having  offended  thee  by  my  unbelief 
—  pardon  me  for  having  doubted  thy  promises — forgive  my 
im})atience  !  I  have  prayed  for  his  conversion,  but  I  was 
umvilling  to  wait ;  and  yet  thou  hast  heard  me  and  answered 


SAVE  THE  CHILDREN.  481 

my  prayer.  Teach  me,  O  Lord,  to  confide  in  thee  ;  teacli  me 
to  remember  tliat  tliou  liearest  always,  but  if  thou  deferrest 
to  answer,  it  is  in  order  to  bless  thee  better ;  but  if  thou  dost 
not  as  we  would  wish,  it  is  because  thy  ways  are  not  as  our 
ways,  and  thou  knowest  better  than  we  Avhat  is  for  our  good. 
Henceforth  I  Avill  say:  'Let  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done.' " 

Here  the  master-sAveep  entered  the  saloon,  and  was  mucli 
surprised  to  find  his  apprentice  and  this  great  lady  both  upon 
their  knees.  She  asked  him  how  he  had  become  possessor 
of  the  child.  He  answered,  that  a  man,  calling  himself  his 
father,  placed  him  in  his  hands  for  a  sum  of  money  ;  that 
this  man  for  some  time  past  had  Ijeen  ill  at  the  hosjjital,  and 
perhaps  was  now  dead. 

Lad\^  Belville  now  hastened  to  the  hospital,  and  found 
a  dying  man,  who  confessed  to  her  that,  about  three  years 
since,  he  had  stolen  a  child  who  was  jumping  over  a  garden 
Avail,  and  that  he  committed  this  crime  in  the  hope  of  gaining 
some  money  by  letting  him  out  as  a  chimney-SAveep  to  one 
of  his  vocation.  Lady  Belville,  too  happy  at  this  moment 
to  reproach  him,  and  thinking  that  God  had  permitted  this 
event  in  order  that  Charles  might  be  placed  in  circumstances 
more  favorable  for  the  good  of  his  soul,  freely  pardoned  the 
unhappy  man,  and  she  saw  him  die  in  the  hope  that  God  had 
pardoned  him  also. 

From  this  time  Charles  Avas  the  joy  of  his  mother ;  and 
she,  to  perpetuate  this  event  in  his  history,  assembled,  on 
the  first  of  May  (the  day  on  Avhicli  she  found  her  son),  for 
many  years,  a  large  number  of  the  SAveeps  of  liis  age,  to  giA'e 
them  an  entertainment,  and  to  relate  the  history  of  Charles, 
to  teach  them  that  God  always  hears  our  prayers,  and 
ansAvers  them,  but  oftentimes  in  a  manner  that  Ave  do  not 
expect. 

If  any  reader  shall  sigh   OA^er   a   Avasted   life,  or   tliink    no 


482  STBEET  AEABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

opportunities  fur  a  great  work  is  Lis,  I  wish  to  remind 
him  that  an  honest  effort  to  save  even  one  chikl  is  not  in 
vain.  If  we  cannot  clothe,  shelter,  or  feed  a  boy  or  girl,  Ave 
can  surely  tell  them  of  the  sinner's  Friend.  And  is  not  this 
the  greatest  work  committed  to  us  ?  (),  my  reader,  if  you 
know  the  power  of  the  Gos})el  in  your  own  life,  hasten  with 
the  glad  tidings  to  those  who  know  it  not.  To  save  a  soul 
from  death  may  be  your  rich  reward.  Dr.  George  F. 
Pentecost,  of  Brooklyn,  whose  vigorous  ministry  has  been  so 
eminently  successful,  records  the  story  of  an  "•  Arab's  "  con- 
version worthy  of  being  widely  known.  It  may  lead  some 
reader  to  win  another  lad  from  the  error  of  his  ways :  — 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  preaching  service  in  connection 
with  a  series  of  gospel  meetings  in  a  manufacturing  town  in 
New  England.  As  I  walked  toward  the  platform,  where  m}^ 
wrappings  were,  I  noticed  seated  alone  on  one  of  the  benches 
what  seemed  to  be  a  little  boy.  As  I  passed  him,  I  thought 
to  myself,  Why  is  that  boy  sitting  there  alone  and  at  this 
late  hour?  So  I  went  l)ack  to  him,  and  sat  down  by  his 
side.  On  this  closer  ins})ection  I  found  him  a  lad  of  perhaps 
fifteen  years.  He  was  very  dirty ;  face  and  hands  grimed 
with  factory-grease ;  hair  uncoml>ed ;  mouth  defiled  with 
tobacco.  Meantimes,  he  was  chewing  his  '•  quid "  -sdgor- 
ously.  I  put  my  arms  kindly  about  his  shoulders  and 
said  :  — 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  are  you  waiting  here  for  ?  " 

The  reply  Avas  the  laconic  "  I  dunno." 

••  What  did  you  come  in  for  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  just  wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on  and  to  hear  the 
singing." 

"  Well,  why  do  you  stay  longer,  now  that  nearly  every- 
body has  gone  ?  " 

"  I  dunno.     'Cause  I  don't  feel  ffood." 


SAVE  THE  CHILD  BEX.  483 

"  Do  you  want  to  be  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  I  diinno.     I  dunno  what  that  is." 

"  Why,  it  is  to  be  saved  from  your  sin  and  become  God's 
chikl.  Woukl  you  not  like  to  be  God's  child?  That  is,  to 
be  a  Christian." 

"  /  \l  like  to  he  gooder.     That 's  what  I  'd  like  to  be." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  that  is  what  Jesus  will  do  for  you,  if  you 
will  take  him  for  your  Saviour.  He  will  not  only  make  you 
'gooder,'  but  he  will  forgive  all  your  sins  and  give  you  a 
new  heart." 

"  I  dunno  what  you  mean  by  that." 

And  therein  he  was  like  Nicodemas.  Indeed,  he  was  a 
young  Nicodemus  come  to  Jesus  by  night.  He  knew  that 
he  wanted  to  be  "gooder,"  but  he  did  not  know  how  he  was 
to  be  made  so.  I  talked  with  him  a  little  while  about  Jesus, 
but  lie  did  not  seem  to  understand  how  Jesus  could  be 
'"  away  up  in  heaven,"  and  yet  know  anything  about  him ; 
and  particularly  he  did  not  know  how  lie  was  to  give  himself 
to  Christ.  Nevertheless,  I  wertt  on  preaching  or  talking- 
Jesus  to  him,  trusting  the  present  holy  /Spirit,  Avho  had 
awakened  him  and  detained  liim  in  the  inquiry-room,  to 
enable  him  to  understand  these  things.  At  length  he 
said :  — 

"  1  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  believing  on  Jesus 
Christ." 

Apparently  dropping  the  subject,  I  turned  to  him  abruptly 
and  said  :  — 

"  Where  do  you  work  ?  " 

He  looked  up,  evidently  surprised,  and  told  me  that  he 
worked  in  a  certain  factory. 

"  What  do  you  do  in  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  works  in  the  picking-room." 

"  Is  it  a  good  job  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  't  ain't  I     It 's  long  hours  and  poor  pay." 


484  STBEET  ABABS  AND     GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

"  How  long  do  you  work  ?  " 

"  Oh !  different.  Sometimes  ten  hours  and  sometimes 
fourteen,  according  to  the  way  the  mill  runs." 

"  And  what  pay  do  you  get  ?  " 

"  Only  but  fifty  cents  a  day." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  now,  Johnny,  suppose  Mr.  So-and-so," 
naming  the  manager  of  a  large  mill  in  another  part  of  the 
town,  "  should  come  to  you,  and  say :  '  Johnny,  I  want  a  bt)y 
to  work  for  me  in  my  mill,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  want 
him  to  do.  I  want  him  to  work  four  hoiu's  a  day  in  the  mill 
with  two  of  my  own  boys,  that  I  am  bringing  up  to  know 
the  business.  Then  I  want  him  to  go  to  school  a  half  a  da}'. 
I  will  give  him  a  dollar  a  day,  and  he  shall  eat  at  my  table 
and  live  in  my  house  with  my  boys ;  and,  indeed,  I  will  be 
a  kind  father  to  him  and  take  good  care  of  him.'  " 

The  little  fellow  listened  with  amused  incredulity ;  but 
when  I  had  finished,  and  asked  him  :  "  Johnny,  if  such  an 
offer  was  made  to  you,  would  you  accept  it?  "  with  a  smile 
that  spread  all  over  his  face,  and  even  up  out  of  the  grime 
and  dirt,  and  far  quicker  than  I  can  record  it,  he  said :  — 

"  You  let  I  would!     And  mighty  quick  !" 

"  But,  Johnny,  what  would  you  do  with  the  old  job  ?  " 

"I  'd  throw  it  up,  higher 'n  a  kite." 

"  And  then  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

'■'  Wh}' ,  of  course,  I  go  to  work  for  the  new  boss.  But, 
say,  Mister,  you  are  chaffin'  me  now." 

"  No,  Johnny,  I  am  not  chaffing  you.  You  are  working 
for  a  hard  master  now,  and  are  having  long  hours  and  poor 
pay.  Every  one  who  is  living  in  sin  is  serving  the  Devil, 
and  the  only  pay  you  Avill  get  by-and-by  is  death.  But,  my 
boy,  God  loves  you  and  he  has  sent  Jesus  into  the  world  to 
tell  you  so  and  to  offer  to  make  you  his  child,  put  you  to 
work  for  him,  and  finally  take  you  to  heaven.  Now,  Johnny, 
will  you  accept  this  new  situation  and  become  God's  child  ? 


SAVE  THE  CHILDREN.  485 

That  is  what  I  mean  by  believing  on  Jesus  Christ  and 
accepting  him.  Will  you  take  him  for  your  Saviour  and 
new  Master  ?  " 

Once  more  the  smile  came  back  into  his  face,  and  with 
straightforward,  honest  love  in  his  eye,  he  said  :  — 

"Is  that  it?     Then  I  '11  take  Christ  Jesus  for  my  Saviour." 

"But  Johnny,"  I  said,  '•'•what  will  you  do  with  the  old  job 
of  sin/ 

Still  another  ray  of  light  came  into  his  face,  and,  with 
compressed  lips  and  firm  and  determined  voice,  he  said, 
evidently  remembering  his  other  answer :  "  I  '11  throw  it 
up." 

"That's  it,  my  dear  boy.  That  is  what  it  is  to  become 
a  Christian.  It  is  to  take  Jesus  for  your  Saviour,  who 
forgives  all  your  sin,  and  for  your  new  Master,  and  God  for 
your  Father  in  heaven,  and  throw  up  the  old  job  of  sin. 
Will  you  kneel  down  here  with  me,  and  tell  Jesus  you  have 
taken  him  in  your  heart,  to  be  your  Saviour  and  Master  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir."  And,  with  that,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  beside 
me,  and,  after  I  had  offered  a  prayer,  I  asked  him  to  pray, 
which  he  did,  substantially  in  these  words:  "Lord  Jesus,  I 
take  you  for  my  Saviour,  and  I  throw  up  sin.  Help  me  to 
be  gooder  than  I  am  and  to  serve  you  rig-lit."  I  said  the 
"  Amen." 

I  was  in  that  city  months  afterward,  and  asked  the  pastor 
after  "  Johnny,*'  who,  he  told  me,  was  walking  uprightly. 
Among  other  things,  he  had  "  thrown  up  his  tobacco." 

When  the  Son  of  Man  shall  appear  at  the  throne  of  his 
glory,  will  any  of  the  little  ones,  shining  then  in  the  perfect 
light,  in  the  land  where  there  shall  be  no  more  pain,  or  sorrow, 
or  hunger,  or  sin,  or  crying,  for  God  shall  have  himself 
"wiped  away  the  tears  from  off  all  faces  "  (Rev.  xxi,  4),  — 
in  that  day,  will  there  be   any  of  these   children  waiting  and 


486  STI^EET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTEli  SXIPES. 

watching  to  welcome  you  as  the  one  who  led  their  wandering- 
feet  to  the  cross  of  Jesns?  "What,  if  then,  the  King  of 
glory  should  inquire  :  — 

"Have  ye  looked  for  sheep  in  the  desert. 
For  those  who  liave  missed  their  waj*? 
Have  ye  been  in  the  wild,  waste  places. 
Where  the  lost  and  the  wandering  stray? 
Have  ye  trodden  the  lonely  highway, 
The  foul  and  darksome  street? 
It  may  be  ye'd  see  in  the  gloaming, 
The  print  of  My  wounded  feet. 

"  Have  ye  folded  home  to  your  l)osom. 
The  trembling,  neglected  lamb? 
And  taught  to  the  little  lost  one 
The  sound  of  the  Shepherd's  name? 
Have  ye  searched  for  the  poor  and  needy, 
"With  no  clothing,  no  home,  no  bread? 
The  Son  of  Man  was  among  them. 
He  had  no  where  to  lay  His  head,*' 


CHAPTER   XX. 

ODDS    AND    ENDS. 

A  String  Wanted.  —  Pickings  and  Stealings.  — Self-denial. —  The  Little  Black  Girl. — 
"  Cheer  Boys,  Clieer !  "  —  London  R:igged-Scho()ls.  —  Volunteer  Teachers.  —  Power- 
lessness  of  Science.  —  "  Science  lias  no  Moralit_v."  —  Broussa  Orplians.  —  Only 
Sample  Cases.  —  Poem  on  Christian  Liberality.  —  AVhat  a  Schoolboy  Saw.  —  The 
Sister's  Love  Letters.  —  The  Parson  a-Swellin'  I'p.  —  Inviting  Jesus  to  Tea.  — 
Female  Oi-phanages. — Alone  in  London.  —  Mrs.  Arden's  Forgetfulness.  — "  Precious 
Promise."  —  The  Mysterious  Caller.  — The  Zulu  "Arab." — Aim  High.  —  Mr.  Gough's 
Cigars.  —  "Feel  o'  that  air  Muscle!"  — Mr.  Gough  and  Mr.  Spurgeon.  —  The  Sick 
Boy.  —  Mr.  Spurgeon  at  his  Greatest.  —  The  Burned  "Arab."  —  A  Hard  Case. — 
Only  a  Boy.  —  Bobby  and  the  Breakfast.  —  Afraid  of  Being  Born  Again.  —  Be 
Brave,  Boys.  —  The  Christian  Martyr  Picture.  —  Japan  "  Arabs."  —  Wonderful 
Kites. —  "  Feast  of  Flags." —  "  Feast  of  Dolls."  — The  Story-teller.  —  The  Floating 
Duck. — The  "Arab"  Is  Sharp  and  Sly.  —  Paddy's  Speech.  —  Another  "  Arab  " 
Speech.  —  The  Speaker's  Departure  for  the  West. 

"TTTHEN  a  small  boy,  I  puzzled  a  great  deal  about  the 
string"  always  found  in  rock-candy.  It  could  not  be 
accidental,  that  a  white  thread  ran  through  the  middle  of 
each  pennyworth.  When  the  explanation  was  given,  that  on 
this  same  thread  the  sugar  was  crystalized,  my  curiosit}^ 
ended.  In  opening  this  chapter  I  feel  the  need  of  a  string, 
having  at  hand  many  interesting  facts,  illustrations,  sayings, 
and  doings  of  "  Arabs,"  coming  under  no  particular  head, 
yet  not  willing  to  deny  them  a  place  in  this  book. 

I  have  called  them  "•  (^dds  and  Ends,"  being  chiefly  such ; 
mostly  broken  fragments  from  other  writers.  Politician-like, 
I  have  indulged  in  ■plckiniis  and  stealinr/s  ;  not,  however, 
for  selfish  hoarding,  but  rather  for  widespread  distribution. 
The  origin  of  such  fragments  as  are  not  properly  "  credited," 
like  the  sources  of  the  Nile,  are  hidden  in  obscurity,  while 
others  are  borrowed  from  literary  i)irates,  whom  we  do  not 
wish  to  expose. 

Mrs.  Birt,  of  Liverpool,  to  wliom  reference  has  been  made 


488  STREET  ARABS  AND  UCTTEli  SXIPES. 

already,  has  a  lieautiful  motto  on  self-denial,  printed  on  her 
note-paper.  A\'ith  each  letter  going ont  from  her  '"Home  for 
Little  Ones,"'  she  preaches  this  sermonette  :  — 

''We  need  not  bid  for  eloisteied  eell 
Our  iieiglibor  and  our  work  farewell, 
The  trivial  round,  the  eoninion  task, 
May  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask ; 
Eooni  to  den\'  ourselves  —  the  road 
To  bring  us  daily  nearer  God.'' 

A  little  black  girl,  eight  years  old,  was  setting  the  table, 
when  a  boy  in  the  room  said  to  her  :  — 

"  Mollie,  do  yon  pray  ?  "  The  siiddeiniess  of  the  qnestion 
confused  her  a  little  ;  but  she  answered  :  — 

''  Yes,  sir ;  every  night." 

"  Do  yon  think  God  hears  yon  ? "'  the  boy  asked.  And 
she  answered  promptly :  — 

"  I  know  he  does." 

"But  do  you  think,'"  said  he,  trying  to  puzzle  her,  "that 
he  hears  your  prayer  as  those  of  white  children  ?  " 

For  full  three  minutes  the  child  kept  on  Avitli  her  work 
without  speaking  ;  then  she  slowly  said :  — 

"  Master  George,  I  pray  into  God's  ear,  and  not  his  eyes. 
My  voice  is  just  like  any  other  little  girl's  ;  and  if  I  say 
what  I  ought  to  say,  God  does  not  stop  to  h)ok  at  my  skin." 

George  did  not  question  her  any  further.  The  answer 
he  felt  to  be  a  wiser  one  than  he  could  have  given. 

Miss  Geldard,  whose  poetic  pen  has  so  often  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  orphan,  puts  the  following  cheery  song  into  the 
mouths  of  the  little  ones  sheltered  by  ]Mr.  Qnarrier.  I  would 
suggest  that  any  group  of  children  might  be  taught  to  sing 
it  —  one  singing  one  verse,  another  the  second,  etc.,  but  all 
joining  in  the  chortis.  I  have  changed  a  local  word  to  make 
the  stirring  song  more  universal. 


ODDS  AXD  ENDS.  489 

Tune  —  "  Cheer,  boys,  checi'!  " 
Tell  me  the  sound  that  wakened  ijou  this  morning? 

Tell  us  the  ttrst  sound  that  fell  upon  your  ear? 
As  I  lay  and  listened  as  the  day  was  dawning, 
I  heard  the  lark  siug  his  carol  sweet  and  clear. 

Cheer,  boys  cheer !  for  heaven's  vault  above  us ; 

Cheer,  boys  cheer!  for  the  pleasant  fields  around;' 
Cheer,  boys  cheer !  for  the  kindly  hearts  that  love  us ; 

Cheer,  boys  cheer !  for  each  country  sight  and  sound. 

'T  was  not  the  lark  that  wakened  me  this  morning ; 

I  need  a  louder  call  to  waken  me  than  you ; 
I  slept,  though  rosy  clouds  were  all  the  sky  adorning. 

Till  I  lieard  the  cock  cry  "  coclv-a-doodle  do !  "  —  Cho 

As  I  lay  and  listened  in  tlie  quiet  dawning, 

I  heard  the  patter  of  the  falling  rain ; 
Then,  on  a  sudden,  tlie  whistle  gave  me  warning, 

Then  came  the  huh  I  huh  I  of  the  passing  train.  —  Cho. 

I  heard  the  black  crows  slowly  flying  over, 

"  Caw-caw-caw-caw,"  as  they  passed  us  by ; 
Down  by  the  burn  side  I  heard  the  graceful  plover  — 

"■  Pee  wit,  pee  wit,  wit,"  was  her  constant  cry.  —  Cho. 

Breakfast  came  to  my  mind  as  I  lay  this  morning, 

Then  I  heard  tlie  lowing  of  the  farmer's  cow; 
Now  there 's  some  one  coming  for  to  give  us  warning, 

I  hear  the  black  dog  crying  "  bow-wow-wow-wow-wow !  "  —  Cho. 

London  Rao-cred-Schools  are  a  g-reat  institution.  Their 
patron,  Lord  Shaftesbury,  said  recentl}' :  — 

We  have  heard  something  about  the  "■justification  of 
ragged-schools."  Justification  !  Look  wliat  is  before  3^ou 
now ;  remember  that  most  of  these  chiklren  have  been 
dragged  from  tlie  depths  of  human  misery  ;  see  what  they 
are  now,  and  ask.  Does  that  re(;[uire  any  justification?  It  is 
not  justification  of  ragged-scho(ds  we  recpiire,  but  an 
enormous  extension  of  their  operations.  I  remember  the 
high  and  palmy   days  of    ragged-schools ;    I  remember    we 


490  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SNIPES. 

liave  trained  and  sent  out  three  hundred  thousand  children 
whom  I  would  back  against  any  equal  number  of  cliildren  in 
the  country.  Tln'ee  hundred  thousand  boj'S  and  girls,  all  of 
wlioin  would  have  gone  to  join  the  dangerous  classes  !  We 
picked  them  up,  we  trained  them,  we  taught  them  to  fear 
God  and  man,  and  we  sent  them  into  domestic  services,  into 
trades,  into  tlie  colonies.  Have  any  of  them  broken  the 
hearts  of  their  teachers,  or  proved  a  disgrace  to  the  tuition 
they  received?     None,  I  tell  you. 

Think  how  many  volunteer  teachers  we  have  had; 
remember  the  arduous  and  oppressive  and  perilous  work  of 
the  teachers  of  former  days,  —  how  they  braved  contagion, 
all  that  could  be  offensive  to  the  senses,  dangers  of  all  sorts; 
tliink  of  the  present  army  of  about  three  thousand  teachers 
devoting  time,  energy,  strength,  enthusiasm,  and  prayer  to 
the  work,  ready  to  brave  all  dangers  and  difficulties,  and  tell 
me  is  there  not  hope  for  England  when  she  can  produce  such 
citizens,  who,  without  hope  of  fee  or  reward,  and  in  simple 
love  to  the  Master  and  for  the  welfare  of  the  children,  carry 
on  this  grand  work.  The  great  secret  of  the  work  is  the 
parental  principle.  These  children  know  nothing  of  parental 
care  and  love  at  home,  and  love  begets  love.  Hence  the  hold 
these  teachers  have  over  the  wayward,  neglected,  and  migra- 
tory children. 

I  pray  God  most  earnestly  that  so  long  as  there  is  a  ragged 
child  in  existence,  so  long,  by  his  grace  and  mercy,  there  may 
be  a  ragged-school  to  receive,  protect,  love,  and  elevate  these 
children,  and  teach  them  the  faith  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Clirist. 

Hear  the  words  of  a  preacher  on  the  powerlessness  of 
Science  to  elevate  degraded  childhood :  — 

The  work,  remember,  is  essentiall}'  a  Christian  work.  This 
work  means  Christianit}^  or  it  means  nothing.  Now,  the 
question  is  continually  raised   in   the   i)ress,  "  Is   life   worth 


WANTING   TO    LEARN. 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  491 

living  ?  "  but  you  never  heard  a  Christian  ask  that  question, 
though  many  a  Christian  has  answered  it  nobly.  These 
children,  before  you  picked  them  up,  might  ask  such  a 
question,  and  if  they  are  to  answer  it  aright,  Ave  must  give 
them  the  Christian  revelation,  else  will  they  have  nothing 
really  worth  living  for. 

Now,  it  seems  to  me  in  these  days  of  criticism  we  are 
being  brought  to  face  this  question,  and  I  want  to  face  it 
to-night  for  two  or  three  minutes.  The  question  is  this : 
Are  we  going  to  abide  by  the  old  revelation,  or  are  we  going 
to  be  content  to  depend  on  science  ?  Now,  if  we  are  not 
content  with  science  we  must  be  shut  up  to  revelation,  and 
if  we  are  not  content  with  revelation  we  mus-t  be  shut  up 
to  science.  Which  will  it  be  ?  Now,  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand what  this  means.  What  has  science  to  offer  you? 
Go  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  kingdom  of  science 
and  you  find  one  law.  What  is  that  law?  The  law  of  force, 
the  law  of  might.  Science  has  no  morality ;  no  right  and 
wrong.  Shut  me  up  to  science,  and  I  am  shut  up  to  the  law 
of  force.  Might  is  right,  and  there  is  no  right  beside.  Shut 
me  up  to  science,  tlien  I  must  study  the  law  of  dynamics. 
Shut  me  up  thns,  and  you  leave  me  nothing  to  fall  back 
upon  in  my  weakness  but  craft.  If  1  have  not  muscle,  craft 
must  avail  me  ;  if  1  have  not  muscle,  I  must  fall  back  upon 
craft  and  guile.  Science  in  the  long  run  has  iov  the  weak 
nothing  but  dynamite  to  fall  l)ack  upon.  Science  then  will 
not  avail  us,  and  we  turn  to  the  Christian  revelation. 

The  Christian  work  which  Mrs.  l^aghdasarian  is  conducting 
among  the  destitute  children  of  Broussa  is  one  of  consider- 
able interest.  Broussa  is  the  capital  of  Bithynia,  the  country 
in  Asia  Minor  of  which  the  Apostle  Peter  speaks  (1  Peter, 
i,  1).  The  city  is  situated  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Olympus. 
It    was  for  a  long  period    the    metropolis    of  the    kings     of 


492  STREET  ABADS  AND  irUTTEll  SNIPES. 

lUthynia,  and  derives  its  name  from  Prussias,  the  protector 
of  Hannibal,  one  of  the  early  monarehs,  who  reigned  two 
hundred  years  befoi'e  Christ. 

Here  are  specimens  (tf  what  some  of  the  girls  once  were, 
and  portraits  of  what  they  now  are  :  — 

Little  Anna,  seven  years  old,  was  found  by  a  inan  on  a 
heap  of  rubbish,  eating  whatever  she  coidd  find.  The  poor 
little  thing  looked  scarcely  human  ;  she  was  sewn  up  in 
raa's.  When  the  ras^s  were  cut  from  her  it  was  discovered 
that  her  attenuated  body  was  eaten  into  holes  by  vermin,  and 
her  head  was  covered  with  sores,  which  caused  her  hair  to 
fall  off.  By  patient  nursing,  after  eight  months'  residence  in 
the  Home  she  had  become  a  pretty,  clear-complexioned, 
lovable  girl,  and  her  head  is  now  covered  with  brown, 
curling  hair. 

Marian,  another  orphan,  was  found  in  the  streets  of 
Broussa  begging.  She  had  run  away  from  one  to  whom  she 
had  been  sold,  and  who  had  l)een  in  the  habit  of  binding  her 
to  a  pillar  and  whipping  her  ijiost  cruelly.  She  is  a  most 
clever  girl,  sews  beautifully,  and  is  gentle  and  obedient. 

Another  child,  Yevpymia,  came  with  a  bad  disease  of  the 
ears  and  fingers,  and  it  was  feared  that  the  former  would  drop 
off.  She  has  now  grown  a  most  fair  and  pretty  child. 
Synhie,  another  destitute  little  girl,  was  at  first  rather  obsti- 
nate. She  went  repeatedly  to  the  matron  and  told  her  that 
if  she  did  not  open  tlie  door  and  let  her  out  she  would  dig  up 
the  pavement  and  throw  the  stones  at  her  head.  Tliese 
vicious  habits  have  been  overcome,  and  Synhie  is  now  a 
warm-hearted,  energetic  child,  and  is  very  clever  in  her 
studies  and  in  her  work. 

These  are  but  samples  of  many  cases  which  could  be 
adduced;  but  enough  has  been  said  to  commend  the  ''Asia 
Minor  Home  for  Orphan  and  Destitute  Girls"  to  the  sympa- 
thy and  prayers  of  our  readers. 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  493 

"Is  thy  cruse  of  comfort  wasting?  rise  and  sliare  it  with  another. 
And  tln-ougli  all  the  years  of  famine,  it  shall  serve  tliee  and  tliy  brotlier : 
Love  divine  will  fill  thy  storehouse,  or  thy  liaudful  still  renew; 
Scanty  fare  for  one  will  often  make  a  royal  feast  for  two. 

"For  the  lieart  grows  rich  in  giving;  all  its  wealth  is  living  grain ; 
Seeds",  whicli  mildew  in  the  garner,  scattered,  fill  with  gold  tlie  plain. 
Is  thy  burden  hard  and  heavy?    Do  thy  steps  drag  wearily? 
Help  to  bear  thy  brother's  Ijurden ;  God  will  bear  both  it  and  thee. 

"Numb  and  weary  on  the  mountains,  wouldst  thou  sleep  amongst  the 

snow  ? 
Chafe  that  frozen  form  beside  thee,  and  together  both  shall  glow. 
Art  thou  stricken  in  life's  battle?  —  many  wounded  round  thee  moan; 
Lavish  on  their  wounds  tliy  balsams,  and  that  balm  shall  heal  thine  own. 

"  Is  the  heart  a  well  left  empty?    iSTone  but  God  its  void  can  fill ; 
Nothing  but  a  ceaseless  fountain  can  its  ceaseless  longing  still. 
Is  the  heart  a  living  power?    Self -entwined,  its  strength  sinks  low ; 
It  can  only  live  in  loving,  and  by  serving  love  will  grow." 

We  borrow  this  paragraph  from  The  Little  Wanderer'' s 
Friend  :  — 

A  teacher  once  said :  When  I  first  l)egan  to  teach  school 
ill  the  country,  I  said  to  a  bright  boy,  one  pleasant  spring 
morning,  who  liad  a  mile  to  come  to  school  every  day :  — 

"  Well,  my  young  man,  what  did  you  see  this  morning  on 
your  way  to  school?  '' 

"Nothing  much,  sir." 

I  said:  "To-morrow  morning  I  shall  ask  you  the  same 
question." 

The  morning  came,  and,  when  I  called  him  to  my  desk, 
you  would  have  been  surprised  to  hear  how  much  he  had 
seen  along  the  road  —  cattle  of  all  sizes  and  colors ;  fowls  of 
almost  every  variety  ;  sheep  and  lambs,  horses  and  oxen  ;  new 
barns  and  houses,  and  old  ones  ;  here  a  tree  blown  down,  and 
yonder  a  tine  orchard  just  coming  out  into  full  bloom  ;  there 
a  field  covered  over  with  corn  or  wheat ;  here  a  broken  rail  in 


494  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  8NIBE8. 

the  fence,  tnere  a  wash-nut  in  the  road  ;  over  yonder  a  pond, 
alive  with  garrulous  geese  and  ducks  ;  here  he  met  a  carriage 
and  there  a  farm-wagon.  And  not  only  had  he  seen  all  these 
and  many  more  things  in  the  fields  and  by  the  vv^ayside,  but, 
looking  up,  he  had  noticed  flocks  of  blackbirds  going  north 
to  their  summer  home.  He  saw  the  barn  and  chimney 
swallows  flying  about  in  every  direction ;  there  he  had 
noticed  a  kingbird  making  war  on  the  crow,  and  here  a  hawk 
pursuing  a  little  bird ;  yonder  he  had  seen  robins  t\ying 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  over  there  the  bobolink  mingling  his 
morning  song  with  that  of  the  meadoAV  lark.  In  a  M'ord,  he 
had  so  much  to  tell  me,  tliat  I  had  not  time  before  school  to 
hear  it  all.  A  new  Avorld  had  sprung  up  all  round  him  — 
earth,  water,  and  air  were  now  full  of  interesting  objects  to 
him.  Up  to  this  time,  he  had  never  learned  to  look  and 
think.  Things  around  him  had  not  changed  in  number  or 
character,  but  he  began  to  take  note  of  them. 

A  youngster  in  Peoria,  Illinois,  while  ransacking  his 
sister's  portfolio,  came  across  a  package  of  love-letters  care- 
fully tied  up  with  a  l)lue  ribbon,  and  stowed  snugly  away; 
being  her  correspondence  with  a  charming  fellow,  not, 
perhaps,  to  the  liking  of  papa  and  mamma.  These  he  took 
to  the  corner  of  a  crowded  thoroughfare,  and,  as  he  had  seen 
the  postman  do,  distributed  them  to  the  passers-by.  His 
poor  sister  heard  of  the  aclnevement  after  they  were  in 
general  circulation ;  and  then ! 

A  clergyman  of  astonishing  pertinacity,  having  tired  out 
a  large  congregation  long  before  he  had  reached  his  tenthly. 
stopped  to  take  breath  and  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  forehead, 
and  was  just  beginning  afresh,  when  a  little  miss,  right  near 
the  pulpit,  exclaimed :  '^  O  mother !  he  ain't  a-goin'  to  stop 
at  all  :  he  is  a-swellin'  up  again." 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  495 

There  is  a  beautiful  story  told  of  two  children  who  were 
left  at  home  alone  one  wintry  day.  They  were  talking  of 
Jesus,  and  one  said  to  the  other :  "  I  wonder  if  Jesus  would 
come  to  tea  with  us  if  we  set  a  cup  and  saucer  for  him  and 
asked  him.  Mother  says  he  hears  us,  and  loves  to  come  and 
bless  us,  Avhen  we  ask  him."  "  Let  us  try."  said  the  other. 
So  they  put  a  third  cup  and  saucer  on  the  table,  and  when 
they  gave  thanks  they  folded  their  hands  and  asked  Jesus 
to  come  to  tea  with  them.     Then  they  sat  and  listened. 

There  came  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.  They  were  a 
little  frightened,  but  they  hastened  to  lift  the  latch.  They 
peeped  out,  expecting  to  see  Jesus,  but  there  was  only  a 
poor  ragged  shivering  boy,  with  a  broom  in  his  hand.  At 
first  they  were  disappointed,  but  one  said :  '•'■  Perhaps  Jesus 
could  not  come  himself,  and  so  he  sent  this  little  boy 
instead."  They  brought  him  some  warm  tea  and  a  piece 
of  cake,  and  as  they  watched  him  eating  they  thought : 
"  Jesus  knows  all  about  it,  and  he  is  taking  it  just  as  if  we 
had  done  it  to  him." 

So  let  us  try  to  make  some  hearts  glad  to-day,  and  Jesus 
will  take  it  as  if  we  had  done  it  to  him,  when  he  was  a  little 
cliild,  and  lay  in  the  manger.  ""Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it 
unto  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

Female  orphanages  are  a  great  desideratum,  since  young 
helpless  girls  are  surrounded  with  peculiar  dangers.  Some 
penitentiary  statistics  show  too  plainly  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  of  their  position,  bereft  of  a  mother's  tender  care 
and  a  father's  loving  counsel.  Out  of  551  inmates  of  a 
penitentiary,  423  of  whom  had  been  domestic  servants,  there 
were  387  orphans.  Of  these  303  had  found  refuge  from 
their  wretched  life  before  the  age  of  sixteen! 

What  a  heartrending  state  of  matters  is  here  revealed  I 
What   a   crying   need  for  a  more   generous   and   sustained 


496  STREET  ABABS  AXD  GUTTER  SXIPES. 

support  of  female  orplianages !  Is  it  not  of  the  very  essence 
of  true  religion  that  Christians  in  more  fortunate  circum- 
stances should  "visit  the  Avidow  and  the  fatherlesi?  in  tljeir 
affliction  "  ? 

"Rain,  rain,  rain  I  What  a  long,  lonely  day  this  has 
been  !  "  sighed  a  weary-looking  girl,  as  she  glanced  from  lier 
windoAV  into  the  dreariness  without. 

In  smoky  London,  up  five  flights  of  stairs,  in  a  small  attic 
room,  sat  Madeline  Stuart.  Yearningly,  almost  tearfully, 
she  gazed  into  tlie  distance  — 

Above  the  fog.  above  the  smoke, 
Above  the  cross  on  St.  Paul's  Church. 

All  alone  in  the  world  was  she  —  a  poor  scAving-girl,  alone 
in  London  ;  and  3-et  she  did  not  feel  alone.  Those  threaten- 
ing clouds  in  yonder  sky  were  but  a  veil  between  her  and 
her  mother,  and  heaA^en  was  very  near  to  Madeline  Stuart, 
Slowly  she  folded  her  work,  drcAV  down  the  little  white 
curtain,  and  put  on  her  boiniet  and  faded  shawl. 

^  I  am  glad  I  've  finished  this  work  to-night,"  she  said 
softly  to  herself,  as  she  tied  the  bundle,  "for  Mrs.  Arden 
will  surely  pay  me." 

Swiftly  she  walked  through  the  muddy  streets  until  she 
reached  a  handsome  mansion  in  Burlington  Street.  A 
trim-looking  woman  opened  the  door  in  res})onse  to  her  ring, 
and  ushered  her  into  the  comfortable  drawing-room.  A  few 
moments  followed,  and  then  the  rustle  of  silk  on  the  stairs, 
the  door  was  pushed  ajar,  and  in  swept  the  stately  Mrs. 
Arden. 

"  You  are  very  prompt  to-niglit,  my  dear,"  she  observed, 
wirli  one  of  her  most  jjatronizing  smiles  ;  "I  hope  you  have 
not  slighted  your  work  in  your  haste  to  finish  it." 

"  Not  at  all,  ma'am,"  answered  ^Madeline  Stuart,  advancing 
towards  the  ladv,  and  laving  the  work  in  her  hands. 


WARNED    OFF    BY  "LIVERY. 


ODD^  AND  ENDS.  497 

"  Very  well ;  I  will  not  stop  to  examine  it  now,  as  I  have 
a  pressing  engagement  to  meet  at  seven,  and  it  lacks  but  five 
minutes  to  that  hour.  C'all  to-morrow  night  for  your  pay, 
please,  and  perhaps  I  may  have  more  work  for  you."  Mrs. 
Arden  touched  the  bell  and  a  servant  showed  Madeline  to 
the  door. 

"  What  a  disappointment !  "  murmured  the  girl,  as  she 
retraced  her  steps.  "■  She  does  not  know  how  much  I  need 
the  money." 

Mrs.  Arden  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind ;  she  was  simply 
thoughtless.  She  had  everything  herself ;  how  could  she 
realize  Madeline's  wants  ?  Such  people  seldom  do.  The 
little  chapel  in  Vine  Street  was  lighted  as  Madeline  repassed 
it,  and  sweet  music  floated  out  from  the  open  door.  Beauti- 
ful Avords  they  were,  and  they  sounded  very  beautiful  in  tliat 
London  street  to  that  poor  sewing-girl :  — 

"  Prec'i(jus  promise  God  hath  given 
To  the  weaiy  passer-by; 
On  the  way  from  eartli  to  Heaven, 
I  will  guide  thee  with  Mine  eye." 

Madeline  walked  in  and  took  a  seat.  Presently  a  tall, 
handsome  man,  past  middle  age,  entered  and  passed  up  the 
aisle  to  the  chair  behind  the  desk.  As  the  music  ceased,  he 
rose,  ojjened  the  Bible  on  the  table,  and  read  :  "'  In  all  thy 
ways  acknowledge  liim  and  he  shall  direct  thy  paths." 
Three  times  he  read  it  in  clear,  earnest  tones,  and  then  closed 
the  Book.  Laying  his  hand  upon  its  cover,  and  looking 
searchingly  into  the  faces  before  him,  he  said  :  — 

"My  friends,  God  has  never  yet  broken  one  of  his 
promises:  what  is  more,  he  never  will  break  one  of  his 
promises.  Is  there  a  soul  in  this  room  to-night  who  is 
worried  and  perplexed  l)ecause  he  cannot  see  the  way  before 
him  —  any  one  who  is  in  trouble  because  the  future  looks  so 


408  STBEET  .UiABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

dark  to  him,  mid  he  cannot  see  even  one  bright  spot 
ahead?  If  so,  let  me  say,  this  promise  was  meant  for  you. 
Tliink  over  your  past  life,  and  if  at  any  time  God  has  been 
good  to  you,  has  led  you,  has  kept  you,  rise,  and  before  this 
company  acknowledge  him.  Do  this  and  the  promise  shall 
be  verified  unto  j'ou ;  lie  shall  direct  your  paths.  Who  will 
acknowledge  him  now?" 

Thought  after  thouo'ht  rushed  swiftly  throuQ-h  Madeline 
Stuart's  mind.  She  had  l)een  left  an  or})han  at  twelve  years 
of  age.  God  had  placed  her  in  a  good  family;  through  kind 
friends  she  had  obtained  an  education  and  a  l)usiness  by 
which  she  might  gain  an  honest  livelihood.  To  be  sure,  she 
must  work  haul,  very  hard  for  her  daily  bread,  and  true  it 
was  that  her  onl}-  friends  were  far  away  on  the  other  side  of 
the  great  Atlantic ;  yet  God  had  been  good  to  her,  so  good, 
for  her  life  might  have  been  much  more  bitter.  As  these 
truths  were  pressed  home  to  Madeline's  heart,  she  arose,  and 
in  short,  simple  words,  "  acknowledged  him."  Would  the 
promise  be  verified  ?     Would  he  direct  her  paths  ? 

''  If  3'ou  please.  Miss,  there  's  a  caller  for  you  below.'' 
"F(n-  me,  and  so  early?"  and  Madeline   hastened    down 
stairs.       To    her    surprise,    the    clergyman    of  the    previous 
evening  stood  before  her. 

"I  will  explain  my  business  at  once,"  he  added,  after  his 
self-introduction  was  over.  ''  T  am  Mrs.  Arden's  brother.  I 
stood  in  the  back  hall  last  night,  putting  on  my  overcoat, 
and,  the  door  being  ajar,  heard  my  sister  defer  paying  you. 
1  imagined  your  disa^tpointment,  but  feared  my  offer  of 
assitance  might  be  deemed  obtrusive.  I  walked  behind  you, 
and  saw  you  enter  the  church,  and  it  was  hn-  your  especial 
benefit  that  I  chose  the  lesson  of  the  evening.  I  was  much 
gratified  to  hear  3'our  prompt  testimony,  and  moved  to  come 
here  this  morning.     For  many  weeks  I  have  been  in  search 


ODDS  AND  EXDS.  499 

of  some  competent  person  to  act  as  governess  for  raj- 
children  and  companion  to  my  wife.  I  feel  that  it  was  a 
providence  I  chanced  to  be  at  my  sister's  last  evening,  and 
have  no  hesitation  in  offering  yon  the  sitnation  ;  it  is  for  yon 
to  accept  or  reject/" 

And  Madeline* bowed  her  head,  and  answered,  "I  accept 
the  position  and  will  strive  to  fulfil  its  trnsts/' 

She  has  a  hap[)y  home  of  her  own  now;  bnt  she  will  never 
forget  that  rainy  evening  in  London,  when  the  singing  of 
a  hymn  led  her  into  the  chapel.  And  there  hangs  upon  her 
wall,  in  bright  letters,  the  motto  to  which  she  attributes  all 
the  sunshine  of  her  life :  "  In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge 
him,  and  he  shall  direct  thy  paths." 

From  the  Moravian  3Iissionari/  Reporter  comes  this  grain 
of  spice  about  a  Zulu  "Arab":  — 

There  Avas  a  Zulu  lad  in  Natal,  who  had  become  "leader" 
to  a  farmer  on  his  journey  to  Vernlam,  when  they  were  over- 
taken by  the  heavy  mists  so  common  on  those  hills.  The 
mists  very  shortly  became  pouring  rain,  and  darkness  fell 
upon  them.  The  Zulu  lad,  overcome  by  the  cold,  dropping 
the  thong  with  which  he  led  the  oxen,  stood  still.  Speedily 
the  eyes  closed  and  he  could  not  move,  and  he  became  silent. 
The  farmer,  stripping  himself  of  his  great-coat,  and  taking 
everything  that  he  had  available  for  covering,  laid  him  down 
on  the  wagon  and  covered  liiiii  up,  hoping  by  that  means 
to  revive  him  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain,  life  seemed  slowly 
ebbing  out.  Then  laying  himself  down  l)eside  the  little  lad, 
and  opening  his  coat,  he  stretched  out  his  broad  arms  and 
drew  the  boy  to  his  warm,  strong  heart,  and  kept  him  there. 
Very  soon  the  eyes  opened,  and  the  heart  began  to  beat ; 
the  life  returned,  and  the  boy  spoke.  Years  afterAvards  that 
Zulu  lad  said  to  the  farmer :  "  Sir,  tell  me  what  it  was  that 
made  your  heart  so  warm  towards  me,  and  brought  me  back 


500  STBEET  ABAB8  AND  QUTTEB  SXIBES. 

from  death."  And  then,  with  his  heart  as  Avarm  as  ever, 
the  colonist  told  the  "  old,  old  story  of  Jesus  and  his  love," 
and  it  warmed  another  heart,  and  speedily  the  boy  from 
penitence  was  led  to  rapture,  and  now  he  is,  on  those  same 
hills,  a  native  preacher,  proclaiming  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ. 

"  AIM   HIGH  !  " 
"Every  one  that  is  perfect  shall  be  as  his  Master." — Luke,  vi.  40. 

'T  is  scarcely  worth  your  while,  bo}\s, 

To  toil  for  meaner  things ; 
But  serve,  as  subjects  leal  and  true, 

The  glorious  King  of  kings ! 
Whatever  lie  bids  you  practise. 

Upon  His  power  rely; 
That  power  will  never  fall  you: 

Aim  high,  my  boys,  aim  high! 

The  highest  aim  of  any 

Is  just  to  do  Ilis  will ; 
The  post  His  love  assigns  you, 

For  His  own  glory  fill ; 
If  by  a  cross  He  leads  you 

Pause  not  to  query,  Wh}"^'? 
But  steadfast  follow  after : 

Aim  high,  my  boj^s,  aim  high! 

A  perfect  iiattern  shown  us 

Of  God  the  Father's  will. 
Press  forwiu-d,  in  your  measure. 

Its  promptings  to  fultll. 
Though  now  we  see  not  perfectly 

Our  souls  to  satisfy. 
Higher  we  aim,  the  higher  reach : 

Ann  high,  my  boys,  aim  high! 

The  Inmiblest  calling,  followed 

With  loving  thought  of  Him, 
Shall  till  your  cup  with  blessing 

Up  to  the  very  brim : 
What  though  proud  self  should  nmrnuir? 

Its  joys  can  never  vie 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  501 

With  the  '-Well  done!*'  of  the  Master: 
Ann  high,  my  boys,  aim  high! 

A  trifling  act  of  l<indness, 

A  kindly  word  of  cheer, 
A  sunny  smile  of  greeting. 

May  calm  a  brother's  fear; 
And,  e'en  if  men  revile  j'ou. 

Give  blessing  in  reply ; 
Following  thus  the  Master : 

Aim  high,  my  boys,  aim  high ! 

Remember,  He  who  loveth  you. 

Who  gave  his  life  for  you, 
Pledges  his  own  most  royal  word 

To  bear  you  safely  through. 
''Lo!  I  am  with  you  alway. 

Your  every  need  supply. 
And  lead  you  on  to  victory." 

Aim  higli,  my  boys,  aim  liigh ! 

In  Mr.  Gougli's  interesting  and  hnmorons  address  on  his 
platform  and  personal  experiences,  he  recounted  the  following- 
incident  :  — 

I  was  never  so  thoroughly  nonplussed  as  once  at  a 
children's  meeting  by  some  cigars. 

1  was  engaged  to  address  a  large  number  of  children  in  the 
afternoon,  the  meeting  to  be  held  on  the  lawn  back  of  the 
Baptist  church.  In  the  forenoon  a  fiiend  met  me,  and  after 
a  few  words  said :  "  I  have  some  first-rate  cigars  ;  will  3'ou 
have  a  few  ?  "  "  No,  I  thank  you."  "  Do  take  half  a  dozen." 
"  I  have  nowhere  to  put  them."  "  You  can  put  half  a  dozen 
in  your  pocket."  I  wore  a  cap  in  those  days,  and  to  please 
him  I  put  the  cigars  into  it,  and  at  the  appointed  time  I  went 
to  the  meeting.  I  ascended  the  platform  and  faced  an  audi- 
ence of  more  than  two  thousand  children.  As  it  was  out  of 
doors  I  kept  ni}-  cap  on  for  fear  of  taking  cold,  and  in  the 
excitement  of  my  lemarks  against  forming  bad  habits  I 
forgot  all  about  the  cigars. 


502  STIiEET  AliABS  AND  (iJ'TTEB  SNIPES. 

Toward  the  close  of  my  speech  I  became  more  earnest,  and 
after  naming  the  boys  ag-ainst  bad  company,  tobacco,  drink, 
bad  liabits,  and  tlie  bar-room  saloons,  I  said:  "  Now,  boys, 
let  us  give  three  rousing  cheers  for  temperance  in  all  things. 
Now,  then,  three  cheers,  hurrah !  "  And  taking  off  my  cap 
I  waved  it  most  vigorously,  when  away  went  the  cigars  right 
into  the  midst  of  tlie  audience.  The  remaining  cheers  were 
very  faint,  and  were  nearly  drowned  in  the  laughter  of  the 
crowd.  I  was  mortified  and  ashamed,  and  should  have  been 
relieved  could  I  have  sunk  through  the  platform  out  of  sight. 
My  feelings  were  still  more  aggravated  by  a  l)oy  coming  up 
the  steps  of  the  platform  with  one  of  those  dreadful  cigars, 
saying,  in  the  hearing  of  every  one  there  :  ''  Here  's  one  of 
your  cigars,  Mr.  Gough." 

Near  Gorham's  Corner,  two  little  boys  had  set  themselves 
in  battle  array  against  a  third,  somewhat  larger.  They  were 
all  in  petticoats,  l)y  the  way.  At  last  one  of  the  two  stepped 
a  little  in  advance  of  his  companion,  and  bending  his  arm 
like  a  prize-fighter,  sung  out:  "D'ye  see  that!  jess  feel  o' 
that  air  muscle  I "  The  arm  appeared  al)Out  the  size  of  a 
turkey's  leg,  while  he  was  manipulating  the  biceps;  and  the 
countenance  tliat  of  a  trained  pugilist.  As  tlie  bigger  boy 
stepped  up  to  feel  that  muscle.,  the  little  fellow  let  fly,  and 
sent  liim  head  over  heels  into  the  gutter,  petticoats  and  all. 

"  D(j  you  say  your  prayers  every  day,  my  little  man  — 
every  night  and  morning?"  said  a  mother  in  Israel  to  a  little 
reprobate  of  a  shoeblack,  to  whom  she  had  just  given  a  tritle. 
"  Yes'm;  I  alius  says  'em  at  night,  mum  ;  but  any  smart  boy 
can  take  care  o'  hisself  in  the  daytime,"  was  the  reply. 

Mr.  Gough  relates  some  experiences  he  had  had  in  connec- 
tion with  clergymen  here  and  across  the  Atlantic.  Among 
these  he  describes  an  interview  to  which  he  had  listened  in 


ODDS  AXD  EXDS.  503 

a  child's  sick-room  at  the  Stockwell  Orphanage.  Standing 
by  the  hed  of  a  chihl  hopelessly  ill  was  Rev.  C'.  H.  Spurgeon. 
Holding  the  boy's  hand,  the  great  preacher  said :  "  You 
have  some  precious  promises  in  sight  all  rcmnd  the  room. 
Now,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  going  to  die,  and  3'ou  are  very 
tired  of  lying  here,  but  soon  you  will  be  free  from  all  pain, 
and  Avill  enjoy  rest.  Nurse,  did  he  rest  last  niglit?" 
"Yes;  but  he  coughed  very  mucli."  "  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  it 
seems  very  hard  for  you  to  lie  here  all  day  in  pain,  and  cough 
all  niglit,  bat  remember  Jesus  loves  you.  He  bought  you 
with  his  precious  blood,  and  he  knows  what  is  best  for  you. 
It  seems  hard  for  you  to  lie  here  and  listen  to  the  shouts  of 
the  healthy  boys  outside  at  play  ;  but  sotui  Jesus  will  take 
you  home,  and  then  he  will  tell  }'ou  the  reason,  and  you  will 
be  so  glad." 

Then,  laying  his  hand  on  the  boy,  he  sai<l  :  "  O  Jesus, 
Master,  this  dear  child  is  reaching  out  his  thin  hand  to  find 
thine.  Touch  him,  dear  Saviour,  with  thy  loving,  warm 
clasp.  Lift  him  as  he  passes  the  cold  river  that  his  feet  be 
not  chilled  by  the  water  of  death ;  take  iiim  liome  in  thine 
own  good  time.  Comfort  and  cherish  him  till  that  good  time 
comes,  show  him  thyself  as  lie  lies  here,  and  let  him  see  thee 
and  know  thee  more  and  more  as  his  loving  Saviour." 

After  a  moment's  pause,  Mr.  Spurgeon  added :  "  Now, 
dear  boy,  is  there  anything  you  w^ould  like  ?  If  you  would 
like  a  little  canary  in  a  cage  to  hear  him  sing  in  the  morning, 
you  shall  have  one.  Good-by,  my  dear  boy;  you  will  see  the 
Saviour  perhaps  before  I  shall."  In  relating  this,  Mr.  (rough 
added:  "I  liad  seen  ]\Ir.  Spurgeon  holding  by  his  power 
five  thousand  persons  in  a  breathless  interest  ;  I  kncAV  him  as 
a  great  man  universally  esteemed  and  beloved  ;  but  as  he  sat 
by  the  bedside  of  this  dying  child,  whom  his  l)enelicence  had 
rescued,  he  was  to  me  a  greater  and  grander  man  than  when 
swaying  the  multitude  at  his  will." 


5U4  SriiEET  AEABS  AND  iiUTTEIi  S XI PES. 

The  most  tragic  feature  of  the  fire  at  tlie  exposition  stables, 
in  Pittsburgli,  was  the  burning  of  the  "Arab"  Thomas  Rogers, 
who  was  locked  in  the  stall  with  Polka  Dot.  He  arrived 
there  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening  borrowed  a  l)undle 
of  straw  from  one  of  the  stablemen  to  make  his  bed.  The 
noise  and  the  fire  awoke  him,  and  his  screams  could  be  heard 
above  the  frantic  neighing  of  the  frightened  horses.  The 
jockeys  in  the  stalls  about  him  rushed  to  the  rescue,  but  they 
were  beaten  back  by  the  flames.  Twice  the  boy  managed  tn 
p'et  to  his  feet  and  strove  to  get  awav  from  his  doom,  but. 
terrified  by  his  peril,  dazed  by  the  sudden  transition  from  his 
dreams  to  what  must  have  seemed  to  him  a  foretaste  of  the 
bottomless  pit,  blinded  by  the  smoke,  and  struck  back  by  the 
mad  plunges  of  the  horse,  he  went  down,  and,  after  a  futile 
striiggle  to  rise  again,  gave  up  the  fight.  His  cries  grew 
weaker,  and  finally  ceased,  and  when,  after  the  water  from 
the  engines  had  cooled  the  embers,  his  blackened  trunk  was 
taken  out,  it  was  scarcely  recognizable  as  human.  All  traces 
of  the  brave  fight  he  had  made  for  life,  and  the  horrible 
agony  of  its  surrender,  had  been  charred  away.  Little  is 
known  of  him.  He  was  a  bootblack  in  Kalamazoo,  with 
a  passion  to  figure  in  a  racing-stable.  Whether  he  had  friends 
who  would  sorrow  for  his  death,  or  whether  he  was  alone  in 
the  world,  no  one  knows.  All  attempts  to  hear  from  the 
"Arab's"  relatives  and  friends,  if  he  had  any,  failed,  and 
the  Exposition  Society  iustrui'ted  an  undertaker  to  have  the 
body  properly  buried. 

Here  is  the  brief  history  of  an  "Arab."  received  in^o  a 
Christian  Home :  — 

C.  W.,  aged  thirteen,  suffering  with  hip  disease  causetl 
by  being  entangled  in  some  railings  when  thieving,  and  with 
one  arm  lacerated  tlirough  being  caught  by  some  iron  spikes 
in  committino-  another  robberv,  was  convicted  before  magis- 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  505 

trates  four  times.  His  first  offence  was  stealing  green  peas, 
fined ;  second  offence,  breaking  into  a  day-school  and  steal- 
ing a  sum  of  money,  three  days'  imprisonment ;  third  offence, 
picking  pockets,  seven  days'  imprisonment  and  flogged; 
fourth  offence,  stealing  half  a  sovereign  from  li  sliop,  one 
month's  imprisonment  and  flogged. 


ONLY    A    BOY. 

Only  ;i  boy,  with  his  noise  and  fun, 

The  veriest  mystery  under  tlie  sun; 

As  brimful  of  mischief  and  wit  and  glee 

As  ever  a  human  frame  can  be, 

And  as  liard  to  manage  —  ah  I    ah  me! 

'Tis  hard  to  tell, — 

Yet  we  love  him  well. 

Only  a  boy,  with  his  t'(>arful  tread, 

Who  cannot  be  driven  but  be  led ; 

Who  troubles  the  neighbors'  dogs  and  cats, 

And  tears  more  clothes  and  spoils  more  hats, 

Loses  more  tops  and  kites  and  bats 

That  would  stock  a  store 

For  a  jear  or  more. 

Only  a  boy,  with  his  wild,  strange  ways, 
With  his  idle  hours  on  busy  days ; 
With  his  queer  lemai-ks  and  his  odd  replies. 
Sometimes  foolish  and  sometimes  wise ; 
Often  brilliant  for  one  of  his  size, 

As  a  meteor  hurled 

From  the  pleasant  world. 

Only  a  boj-,  who  will   be  a  man 
If  Nature  goes  on  willi  lier  lirst  great  plan  — 
If  water  or  Are,  or  some  fatal  snare 
Conspire  not  to  lob  us  of   this  our  heir. 
Our  blessing,  our  trouble,  our  rest,  our  care, 
Our  torment  our  }oy. 
'"■  Onlv  a  bov." 


506  STllEET  AliABS  AND  (i  UTTEll  SNIPES. 

'•  I  say,  liobby,""  said  one  youngster  to  another,  ''lend  me 
two  cents,  M'ill  yer?  I  got  np  so  early,  that  1  spent  all  my 
money  'fore  l)reakfast." 

""  More  fool  you." 

''Wall  —  how  should  I  know  the  day  was  goin'  to  be  so 
long?" 

There  is  a  story  told  of  a  little  "Arab,"  in  Scotland,  M'hom 
his  minister  was  catechizing,  and  asked  if  he  would  not  like 
to  be  born  again.  He  did  not  know  the  ineaning  of  that 
blessed  change  winch  the  Bible  calls  being  born  again,  and 
which  gives  us  new  and  lioly  hearts  and  l)rings  us  into  the 
family  of  God ;  and  so  he  told  the  minister  he  did  not  want 
to  be  born  again.  He  Avas  pressed  to  tell  the  reason,  and  at 
at  last  lie  said  :  "•  Because  I  "m  afraid  I  might  be  born  a  girl."" 
Well,  that  would  be  no  calamity  in  America  or  Scotland. 
But  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  be  born  a  girl  in  China.  Often  the 
little  thing  is  throAvn  away  upon  the  streets  or  river.  Some 
families  tell  the  missionaries  of  as  many  as  ten  infant  girls 
who  have  been  drowned  at  their  birth,  because  of  the 
expense  and  trouble  of  bringing  them  up.  But  l)oys  are 
welcomed,  for  they  can  support  their  parents  when  the}"  are 
old,  and  worship  tliem  when  they  die,  which  girls  are  not 
permitted  to  do,  and  therefore  are  regarded  as  useless  and 
expensive  burdens.  O,  what  a  cry  conies  to  us  from  ten 
thousand  little  innocents  who  have  not  even  a,  mother's  pity 
left  — -  Come  and  help  us  !  A  recent  writer  has  put  their 
pitiful   cry  into   these   sad   lines:  — 

"To  tlie  .•lU-cnguIfuit^  torn)) 
Quick  I  hastened  from  the  woinb, 
Scarce  the  dawn  of  life  began 
Ere  1  measured  out  ni}-  span. 
Joyless  sojourner  was  I 
Only  l)orn  to  weep  and  die." 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  507 

"  I  say,  my  fine  fellow,  where  's  this  road  go  to  ?  "  "  It 
hain't  been  nowhere  sence  we  've  lived  in  these  parts." 
A  legal  question  put  to  a  witness  on  the  stand,  legally 
answered. 


"  Whatever  you  are,  be  brave,  boys ! 
The  liar 's  a  coward  aud  slave,  boys : 

Though  clever  at  ruses, 

And  sharp  at  excuses, 
He  's  a  sneaking  and  pitiful  knave,  boys. 

"  Whatever  you  are,  be  frank,  boys! 
"Tis  better  than  u\oney  and  rank,  boys; 

Still  cleave  to  the  right. 

Be  lovers  of  liglit, 
Be  open,  above-board,  and  frank,  boys, 

"  Whatever  you  iire,  be  kind,  boys  ! 
Be  gentle  in  manners  and  mind,  boys 

The  man  gentle  in  mien. 

Words,  and  temper,  I  ween, 
Is  the  gentleman  truly  refined,  boys. 

"But  whatever  you  are,  be  true,  boys: 
Be  visible  through  and  thi-ough,  boys : 
Leave  to  others  the  shanuuing, 
The  'greening'  and  'cramming': 
In  fun  and  in  earnest,  be  true,  boj'S." 


A  little  girl  was  one  day  passing  down  a  street  in  company 
with  her  aunt.  Her  attention  was  arrested  by  a  picture 
hanging  in  front  of  a  ])ookseller's  window.  It  was  the 
picture  of  a  woman  cast  into  tlie  sea,  and  drowning  there, 
because  she  Avould  not  give  up  loving  the  Saviour  and  read- 
ing his  word.  It  was  called  "Tlie  Christian  Martyr."  Little 
Alice,  for  tliat  was  the  girl's  name,  stood  looking  on  with 
wonder,  that  anybody  should  be  so  cruel  as  to  cast  any  one 
into  the  sea  to  be  drowned.     At  first,  however,  she  made  no 


508  STREET  ABABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIBES. 

remark,  and  both  she  and  her  aunt  passed  on.  But  not  long 
after,  looking  wistfully  up,  she  said :  "  Aunt,  what  is  a 
Christian  ?  '*  "  A  Christian  is  one  that  loves  Jesus,  and 
wants  to  do  his  bidding,"  the  aunt,  in  substance,  replied. 
Well,  night  came,  and  Little  Alice  whispered:  "  I  've  a  sec^t 
to  tell  you.  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind  to  be  a  Christian." 
Pleased  at  this,  her  aunt  kindly  said :  ^  Now,  j^ou  must  tell 
Jesus  ;  give  him  your  heart  as  you  lie  there,  and  tell  him  all 
about  it."  This,  by  tlie  grace  of  God,  she  was  enabled  to  do. 
There  is  a  good  cause  to  hope  that  that  night  she  became 
a  Christian.  Next  day  she  awoke  resolved  to  live  like 
Christ,  and  going  along  the  road  skipping,  she  said:  "  Oh,  1 
am  so  happy  to  think  that  Jesus  has  my  heart.  I  have  asked 
him  to  keep  my  heart !  " 

And  that  this  was  a  real  conversion  was  clear  from  her 
brief  but  blessed  life.  At  once  she  began  to  pray,  not  only 
for  herself,  but  for  her  sister,  that  she  too  might  decide  to  be 
a  Christian  ;  and  she  was  delighted  to  hear  about  the  Lord 
and  his  work,  and  to  sing  those  sweet  hymns  with  which  many 
are  now  familiar,  while  her  thoughts  instinctively  turned 
toward  heaven,  singing  sometimes,  — 

'•  Beautiful  Zion  built  above, 
Beautiful  city  that  I  love; 
Beautiful  gates  of  pearly  white, 
Beautiful  temple,  God  its  light." 

Then,  as  a  further  evidence  of  the  reality  of  her  change,  slie 
tried  hard  not  to  be  "naughty,"  as  she  put  it,  but  to  do 
everything  pleasing  in  God's  sight;  while  with  a  generous 
hand  she  gave  away,  for  the  benefit  of  others,  whatever  gifts 
she  had  to  bestow.  Thus  lived  Little  Alice  ;  but  she  was 
spared  only  a  few  weeks,  when  a  serious  illness  overtook  her, 
and  feeling  assured  that  she  was  '"  safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus," 
she  fell  asleep. 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  509 

Rev.  E.  Warren  Clarke  has  described  "Arab"  life  in  Japan 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  is  catching :  — 

The  most  interesting  sights  are  the  games  and  sports  of 
the  children.  The  Japanese  believe  in  enjoying  themselves, 
and  the  young  folks  are  as  bright  and  merry  as  the  children 
of  other  climes.  The  girls  play  battledore  and  shuttlecock, 
and  the  boys  fly  kites  and  spin  tops.  The  girls  enjoy  their 
game  very  much,  and  are  usually  dressed  in  their  prettiest 
robes  and  bright-colored  girdles;  their  faces  are  powdered 
with  a  little  rice-flour,  their  lips  are  tinted  crimson,  and  their 
hair  is  done  up  in  a  most  extraordinary  fashion. 

They  play  in  the  open  streets,  sometimes  forming  a  circle 
of  half  a  dozen  or  more,  and  sending  the  flying  shuttlecock 
from  one  to  the  other.  They  are  very  skilful  and  rarely 
miss  a  stroke.  The  boys  like  a  strong  wind  that  their  kites 
may  soar  high ;  but  the  girls  sing  a  song  that  it  may  be 
calm,  so  that  their  shuttlecocks  may  go  right. 

The  boys  have  wonderful  kites,  made  of  tough  paper 
pasted  on  light  bamboo  frames,  and  decorated  with  dragons, 
warriors,  and  storm  hobgoblins.  Across  the  top  of  the 
kites  is  stretched- a  thin  ribbon  of  whalebone,  which  vibrates 
in  the  wind,  making  a  peculiar  humming  sound.  When  I 
first  walked  the  streets  of  Tokio  I  could  not  imagine  what 
the  strange  noises  meant  that  seemed  to  proceed  from  the 
sky  above  me ;  the  sound  at  times  was  shrill  and  sharp,  and 
then  low  and  musical.  At  last  I  discovered  several  kites  in 
the  air,  and  when  the  breeze  freshened  the  sounds  were 
greatl}^  increased. 

Sometimes  the  boys  put  glue  on  their  kite-strings,  near  the 
top,  and  dip  the  strings  into  pounded  glass.  Then  they  fight 
with  their  kites,  which  they  place  in  proper  positions,  and 
attempt  to  saw  each  other's  strings  with  the  pounded  glass. 
When  a  string  is  severed  a  kite  falls,  and  is  claimed  by  the 
victor.     The  boys  also  have  play-fights  with  their  tops. 


510  STREET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

Sometimes  I  met  boys  running  a  race  on  long  stilts ;  at 
other  times  thej'  would  have  wrestling  matches,  in  whicli 
little  six-year-old  youngsters  would  toss  and  tund)le  one 
another  to  the  ground.  Their  bodies  were  stout  and  chubby, 
and  their  rosy  cheeks  showed  signs  of  health  and  happiness. 
They  were  always  good-natured,  and  never  allowed  them- 
selves to  get  angry. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  fifth  month  the  boys  have  their 
Fourth  of  July,  which  they  call  the  ''  Feast  of  Flags."  They 
celebrate  the  day  very  peaceably,  with  games  and  toys. 
They  have  sets  of  figures,  representing  soldiers,  heroes,  and 
celebrated  warriors ;  with  flags,  daimio  processions,  and 
tournaments.  Outside  the  house  a  bamboo  pole  is  erected 
by  the  gate,  from  the  top  of  which  a  large  paper  fish  is 
suspended.  This  fish  is  sometimes  six  feet  long,  and  is 
hollow.  When  there  is  a  breeze  it  fills  with  wind,  and  its 
tail  and  fins  flap  in  the  air  as  though  it  were  trying  to  swim 
away.  The  fish  is  intended  to  show  that  there  are  boys  in 
the  family.  It  is  the  carp,  whicli  is  found  in  Japanese  waters, 
and  swims  against  the  stream,  and  leaps  over  water-falls. 
The  boys  must  therefore  learn  from  the  fish  to  persevere 
agfainst  all  difliculties,  and  surmount  everv  obstacle  in  life. 
When  hundreds  t)f  these  huge  fishes  are  seen  swimming  in 
the  breeze,  it  presents  a  very  curious  appearance. 

The  girls  have  their  "  Feast  of  Dolls  "  on  the  third  day  of 
the  third  month.  During  the  week  preceding  this  lioliday, 
the  shops  of  Tokio  are  filled  with  dolls  and  richly  dressed 
figures.  This  Feast  of  Dolls  is  a  great  gala-day  for  the 
girls.  They  bring  out  all  their  dolls  and  gorgeousl}-  dressed 
images,  which  are  (juite  numerous  in  respectable  families, 
having  been  kept  from  one  generation  to  another  ;  the  images 
range  from  a  few  inches  to  a  foot  in  height,  and  represent 
court  nobles  and  ladies,  with  tlie  ^Mikado  and  his  household 
in  full  costume.     The}'  are  all  arranged  on  shelves,  together 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  511 

with  many  other  beautiful  toys,  and  the  girls  present  offer- 
ings of  rice,  fruit,  and  "  sake  "  wine,  and  mimic  all  the 
routine  of  court  life.  The  shops  display  large  numbers  of 
these  images  at  this  special  season  ;  after  the  holidays  they 
suddenly  disappear. 

I  once  bought  a  large  doll  baby  at  one  of  the  shops,  to 
send  home  to  my  little  sister  ;  the  doll  was  dressed  in  the 
ordinary  way,  having  its  head  shaved  in  the  style  of  most 
Japanese  babies.  It  was  so  lifelike  that  when  propped  up 
on  a  chair  a  person  would  easily  suppose  it  to  be  a  live 
baby. 

In  going  along  the  Tori  I  would  often  see  a  group  of 
children  gathered  around  a  street  story-teller  listening  with 
widening  eyes  and  breathless  attention  to  the  ghost  story  or 
startling  romance  wliich  he  was  narrating.  Many  old  folks 
also  gathered  around,  and  the  story-teller  shouted  and 
stamped  on  his  elevated  platform,  attracting  great  attention, 
until,  just  as  the  most  tlnilling  part  of  his  story  was  reached, 
he  suddenly  stopped  and  took  up  a  collection  I  He  refused 
to  go  on  unless  the  number  of  pennies  received  was  sufficient 
to  encourage  the  continuation  of  the  story. 

Street  theatricals  can  also  be  seen,  and  traveling-shows 
with  monkeys,  bears,  and  tuml)ling*  gymnasts,  who  greatly 
amuse  the  children.  Sugar-candy  and  various  kinds  of  sweet- 
meats are  sold  by  venders,  who  are  eagerly  sought  after  by 
the  little  folks.  Sometimes  a  man  carries  small  kitchen 
utensils  on  the  ends  of  a  pole,  and  serves  out  tin}^  griddle- 
cakes  to  the  children,  who  watch  him  cook  the  cakes,  and 
smack  their  lips  in  anticipation  of  the  feast. 

A  showman  will  put  a  piece  of  camphor  on  the  tiny  model 
of  a  duck  which  he  floats  on  a  shallow  dish  of  water,  and  as 
the  children  look  on  in  wonder  the  dissolving  camphor  gum 
sends  the  duck  from  side  to  side,  as  though  it  were  alive. 

•  The  boys  delight  in  fishing,  and  will  sit  for  hours  holding 


512  STBEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTEB  SXIPES. 

the  line  by  the  moats  and  canals,  waiting  for  a  bite.  I  have 
seen  a  dozen  people  watch  a  single  person  hsh,  when  there 
would  not  be   a  bite  once  in  a  half  hour. 

There  are  few  vehicles  in  Tokio,  excepting  the  jinrikishas  ; 
and  most  of  the  people  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 
When  riding  on  horseback  it  is  impossible  to  go  at  a  rapid 
rate  without  endangering  the  youngsters  who  sprawl  around 
in  the  street.  Chickens,  dogs,  and  cats  are  also  in  the  way ; 
the  latter  animal  has  no  tail  in  Japan. 

Four  thousand  "  Arabs "  have  come  under  the  influence 
and  training  of  one  Home  for  the  homeless.  Some  of  them 
were  born  in  Ireland,  some  in  Wales,  some  in  England,  in 
Scotland,  Italy,  France,  India,  Belgium,  United  States,  and 
Canada. 

They  needed  only  their  destitute  condition  to  prove  their 
best  letter  of  recommendation  to  the  authorities.  Unwashed, 
uncombed,  shoeless,  or  in  rags,  they  have  been  brought  to 
the  door,  or  have  discovered  it  for  themselves.  Then,  for 
the  first  time  perhaps,  in  their  desolate  lives  they  have  been 
made  aware  that  somebody  cares  for  them,  and  a  faint  feeling 
of  hope  flickers  within  their  hearts. 

The  •'■  Arab  "  in  every  country  is  sharp  and  sly ;  with  a 
soberly  sad  face  he  will  detail  his  grievances,  while  his  hand 
is  abstracting  your  j)urse.  An  old  Cockney  coster  remarked: 
"  These  3'oung  ones  are  as  sharp  as  terriers,  and  learns  the 
business  in  half  no  time.  I  know  one,  eight  years  old,  that  '11 
chaff  a  peeler  [policeman]  monstrous  sewere." 

A  cowardly  scamp,  though  fashional)ly  dressed,  having 
kicked  a  poor  little  newsboy,  for  trying  to  sell  him  a  paper, 
the  lad  hove  to,  till  another  boy  accosted  the  "gentleman," 
and  then  shouted,  in  the  hearing  of  all  the  bystanders :  '•  It 's 
no  use  to  try  him,  Joe  —  he  can't  read." 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  513 

The  following  speech,  copied  from  Mr.  Brace's  book,  "  The 
Dangerous  Classes  of  New  York,"  is  characteristic  and  enter- 
taining. It  is  taken  from  the  journal  of  a  visitor  to  the 
newsboys :  — 

It  requires  a  peculiar  person  to  manage  and  talk  to  these 
boys.  Bullet-headed,  short-haired,  bright-eyed,  shirt-sleeved, 
go-ahead  boys.  Boys  who  sell  papers,  black  boots,  run  on 
errands,  hold  horses,  pitch  pennies,  sleep  in  barrels,  and  steal 
their  bread.  Boys  who  know  at  the  age  of  twelve  more  than 
the  children  of  ordinary  men  would  have  learned  at  twenty  ; 
boys  who  can  cheat  you  out  of  your  eye-teeth,  and  are  as 
smart  as  a  steel-trap.  They  will  stand  no  fooling ;  they  are 
accustomed  to  gammon,  they  live  by  it.  No  audience  that 
ever  we  saw  could  compare  in  attitudinizing  with  this. 
Heads  generally  up  ;  eyes  full  on  the  speaker ;  mouths, 
almost  without  an  exception,  closed  tightly ;  hands  in 
pockets ;  legs  stretched  out ;  no  sleepers,  all  wide-awake, 
keenly  alive  for  a  pun,  a  point,  or  a  slangism.  Winding  up, 
Mr.  Brace  said :  ''  Well,  boys,  I  want  my  friends  here  to  see 
that  you  have  the  material  for  talkers  amongst  yourselves ; 
whom  do  you  choose  for  your  orator  ?  " 

"  Paddy,  Paddy  ! "  shouted  one  and  all.  "  Come  out, 
Paddy!     Why  don't  you  show  yourself?"    and  so  on. 

Presently  Paddy  came  forward,  and  stood  upon  a  stool. 
He  is  a  youngster,  not  more  than  twelve,  with  a  little  round 
eye,  a  short  nose,  a  lithe  form,  and  full  of  fun. 

"•  Bummers,"  said  he,  "  snoozers,  and  citizens,  I  've  come 
down  here  among  ye  to  talk  to  yer  a  little  !  Me  and  my 
friend  Brace  have  come  to  see  how  ye  'r'  gittin'  along,  and  to 
advise  yer.  You  fellers  what  stands  at  the  shops  with  yer 
noses  over  the  railin',  smellin'  of  the  roast-beef  and  the 
hash  —  you  fellers  who  's  got  no  home  —  think  of  it,  how  we 
are  to  encourage  ye  !  [Derisive  laughter,  "  Ha-has  !  "  and 
various  ironical  kinds  of  applause.]     I  say,  bummers — for 


514  STEEET  ARABS  AND  GUTTER  SNIPES. 

yoii  're  all  buinmeis  (in  a  tone  of  kind  patronage)  —  I  was 
a  hummer  once  [great  laughter]  —  I  hate  to  see  you  spendin' 
your  money  on  penny  ice-creams  and  Lad  cigars.  Why 
don't  you  save  your  money  ?  You  feller  without  no  boots, 
how  would  you  like  a  new  pair,  eh  ?  [Laughter  from  all  the 
boys  but  the  one  addressed.]  Well,  I  hope  you  may  get  'em, 
but  I  rayther  think  you  won't.  I  have  hopes  for  you  all.  I 
want  you  to  grow  up  to  be  rich  men  —  citizens,  Government 
men,  lawyers,  generals,  and  influence  men.  Well,  boys,  I  '11 
tell  you  a  story.  My  dad  was  a  hard  one.  One  beautiful 
day  he  went  on  a  spree,  and  he  came  home  and  told  me 
where  's  yer  mother,  and  I  axed  him  I  did  n't  know,  and  he 
dipt  me  over  the  head  with  an  iron  pot,  and  knocked  me 
down,  and  me  mither  drapped  in  on  him,  and  at  it  they  went. 
[''Hi-his!"  and  demonstrative  applause.]  Ah!  at  it  they 
went,  and  at  it  they  kept  —  ye  should  have  seen  'em  — ■  and 
whilst  they  were  fightin',  I  slipped  meself  out  the  back  door, 
and  away  I  went  like  a  scart  dog.  ["  Oh,  dry  up  !  "  "  Bag 
your  head!"  '^ Simmer  down!"]  Well,  boys,  I  went  on 
till  I  kim  to  the  Home  [great  laughter  among  the  boys], 
and  they  took  me  in  [renewed  laughter],  and  did  for  me, 
without  a  cap  to  me  head  or  shoes  to  my  feet,  and  thin  I 
ran  away,  and  here  I  am.  Now  boys  (with  mock  solemnity), 
be  good,  mind  yer  manners,  copy  me,  and  see  what  you  '11 
become." 

At  this  point  tlie  boys  raised  such  a  storm  of  hifalutin 
applause,  and  indulged  in  such  characteristic  demonstrations 
of  delight,  that  it  was  deemed  best  to  stop  the  youthful 
Demosthenes,  who  jumped  from  liis  stool  with  a  bound  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  monkey. 

At  this  juncture  liuge  pans  of  apples  were  brought  in,  and 
the  boys  \.  ere  soon  engaged  in  munching  the  delightful  fruit, 
after  which  the  matron  gave  out  a  hymn,  and  all  joined  in 
singing  it,  during  which  we  took  our  leave. 


ODDS  AND  ENDS.  515 

This,  from  Mr.  Brace's  journal,  is  a  remarkable  impromptu 
speech  considering  the  speaker,  his  youth,  his  antecedents, 
and  the  occasion. 

Some  of  these  boys,  in  all  tlieir  misfortunes,  have  a  humor- 
ous eye  for  their  situation  —  as  witness  the  following  speech, 
delivered  by  one  of  them  at  tlie  Newsboys'  Lodging-House, 
before  the  departure  of  a  company  to  the  West.  The  report 
is  a  faithful  one,  made  on  the  spot.  The  little  fellow 
mounted  a  chair,  and  thus  held  forth :  — 

''  Boys,  gintlemen,  chummies  :  P'raps  you  \1  like  to  hear 
summit  about  tlie  West,  the  great  West,  you  know,  where 
so  many  of  our  old  friends  are  settled  down  and  growin'  up 
to  be  great  men,  maybe  the  greatest  men  in  the  great  repub- 
lic. Boys,  that 's  the  place  for  growing  congressmen,  and 
governors,  and  presidents.  Do  you  want  to  be  newsboys 
always,  and  shoeblacks,  and  timber-merchants  '  in  a  small 
way  by  sellin'  matches  ?  If  ye  do  you  '11  stay  in  New  York, 
but  if  you  don't  you  '11  go  out  West,  and  begin  to  be  farmers, 
for  the  beginning  of  a  farmer,  my  boys,  is  the  making  of 
a  congressman  and  a  president.  Do  you  want  to  be  rowdies, 
and  loafers,  and  shoulder-hitters  ?  If  3e  do,  why,  ye  can 
keep  around  these  diggin's.  Do  you  want  to  be  gentlemen 
and  independent  citizens  ?  You  do  —  then  make  tracks 
foi'  the  West,  from  the  Children's  Aid  Society.  If  you  want 
to  be  snoozers,  and  rummies,  and  policy-players,  and  Peter 
Funk's  men,  why  you  '11  hang  up  your  caps  and  stay  round 
the  groceries  and  jine  iire-engine  and  target  companies,  and 
go  firin'  at  hay-stacks  for  bad  quarters  ;  but  if  ye  want  to 
be  the  man  who  will  make  his  mai'k  in  tlie  country,  ye  will 
get  up  steam,  and  go  ahead,  and  there  's  lots  on  tlie  prairies 
a-waitin'  for  yez, 

''  You  have  n't  any  idear  of  what  ye  may  be  yet,  if  you 
will  only  take  a  bit  of  my  advice.  How  do  you  know  but, 
if  you  are  honest,  and  good,  and  industerous,  you  may  get 


516  STREET  ABABS  AND  aUTTER  SXIPES. 

SO  much  up  ill  the  ranks  that  you  won't  call  a  gineral  or 
a  judge  your  boss.  And  you  '11  have  servants  of  all  kinds 
to  tend  you,  to  put  you  to  bed  when  you  are  sleepy,  and 
to  spoon  down  your  vittles  when  you  are  gettin'  3'our  grub. 
Oh,  boys  !  won't  that  be  great !  Only  think  — -  to  have  a 
feller  to  open  your  mouth,  and  put  great  slices  of  puiikin-pie 
and  apple-dumplin's  into  it.  You  will  be  lifted  on  hossback 
when  you  go  for  to  take  a  ride  on  the  prairies,  and  if  you 
choose  to  go  in  a  wagon,  or  on  a  'scursion,  you  will  find 
that  the  hard  times  don't  touch  you  there  ;  and  the  best 
of  it  will  be  that  if  't  is  good  to-day,  't  will  be  better  to- 
morrow. 

"  But  how  will  it  be  if  you  don't  go,  boys  ?  Why,  I  'm 
afeard  when  you  grow  too  big  to  live  in  the  Lodging-House 
any  longer,  you  '11  be  like  lost  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  as 
we  heard  of  last  Sunday  night  liere,  and  you  '11  maybe  not 
find  your  way  out  any  more.  But  you  '11  be  found  some- 
where else.  The  best  of  you  will  be  something  short  of 
judges  and  governors,  and  the  feller  as  has  the  Avorst  luck  — 
and  the  worst  behaver  in  the  groceries  —  will  be  very  sure 
to  go  from  them  to  the  prisons. 

"  I  will  now  come  from  the  stump.  I  am  booked  for  the 
West  in  the  next  company  from  the  Lodging-House.  I  liear 
they  have  big  schoolhouses  and  colleges  there,  and  that  they 
have  a  place  for  me  in  the  winter-time  ;  I  want  to  be  some- 
bod3\  and  somebody  don't  live  here,  no  how.  You  '11  find 
him  on  a  farm  in  tlie  West,  and  I  hope  you  '11  come  to  see 
him  soon  and  stop  with  him  when  you  go,  and  let  every  one 
of  yous  be  somebody,  and  be  loved  and  respected.  I  thank 
yous,  boys,  for  your  patient  attention.  I  can't  say  more 
at  present,  —  I  liojie  I  have  n't  said  too  much." 


AGENTS  WANTED. 


THE  LIFE  AND  LAB0RS 

C.  H.  SPURGEON, 

THE  FAITHFUL  FREACHER,  THE  DEVOTED  PASTOR,  THE  NOBLE 
PHILANTHROPIST,  THE  BELOVED  COLLEGE  PRESI- 
DENT, THE  VOLUMINOUS  WRITER,  AND 
THE  SUCCESSFUL  EDITOR. 

AN  ELEGANTLY  ILLUSTRATED  VOLUME,  700  Pages,  Octavo. 


COMPILED  AND   EDITED   BY 


>  GE0.  (L.  HEEDHAM,  Evangelist, 

Author  of    'Recollections  of  Henry  Moorhouse,"   '"The  True  Tabernacle,"  '"  Street  Arabs 
and  Gutter  Snipes,"  etc. 


It  will  pliai'pen  the  intellect,  feast  the  soul,  and  quicken  the  whole 
man  with  the  purest  thought,  keenest  wit,  richest  experience,  truest 
philosophy,  and  choicest  language.  Mr.  Spurgeon  is  universally  ac- 
knowledged to  be  the  most  powerful  and  successful  preacher  of  the  age. 
He  has  the  largest  church  membership  and  congregation  of  any  living 
preacher.  He  is  not  a  character  to  be  read  once  and  immediately  laid 
aside,  but  one  that  will  bear  to  be  studied  over  and  over  and  never  gi-ow 
dim,  for  in  hi?  life  the  true  man  is  siiowx  forth,  which  will  im- 
mortalize him  till  the  end  of  time.  For  ministers,  lay  preachers,  Bible 
readers,  and  all  students,  this  work  will  be  found  a  mine  of  valuable  in- 
formation and  suggestion.  No  book  has  been  published  containing  so 
much  of  the  great  preacher,  his  life  and  labors.  This  work  is  not  secta- 
rian, but  faithfully  records  his  life  and  works. 

The  editor  and  writer,  Mr.  Needham,  is  well  known  as  one  of  the 
leading  Evangelists  of  our  country,  being  associated  with  Moodj-, 
Whittle,  and  Bliss,  and  as  such,  Mr.  Spurgeon  gave  liim  full  permission 
to  make  use  of  his  writings  at  his  own  discretion,  while  i)robably  no 
other  man  could  have  so  readily  obtained  this  privilege,  and  his 
British ,  training  and  personal  ac(|uaintance  undoubtedly  (jualify  hiia 
better  than  any  other  for  this  great  work. 

The  engravings,  over  fortj-  in  number.  l)esides  a  steel  plate  of  Kev. 
C.  H.  Spurgeon  and  one  of  Mrs.  Spurgeon,  are  made  expressly  for  this 
book  by  our  best  artists,  from  such  subjects  as  would  fully  illustrate  the 
work,  and  at  great  expense.  The  mechanical  part  of  the  book  is  be3^oud 
criticism,  being  done  by  the  University  Press,  Cambridge. 


A  FEW  EXCERPTS  FEOM  PRESS  NOTICES. 


V 


The  volume  is  the  iivist  exhaustive  prescntatiou  of  the  liome  and  i)ul)lic  life  and 
efforts  of  the  most  active  and  successful  preacher  of  his  {generation. —  xT/oh'.s-  Hirald. 

Mr.  Needhani's  memoir  recounts  this  remarkable  life,  and  its  manifold  activities  as 
preacher,  pastor,  editor,  eilucator  of  preachers.  orj;aiii/.er  of  charities,  all  can-ied  on 
ahreast.  and  all  derivinj;  their  impulse  from  one  lirain  ;ind  heart,  which,  gathered  up 
and  presented  in  one  view,  <an  harilly  he  looketl  upon  without  wonAer.— The  Watchman. 

The  interest  will  l)e  much  enhanced  hy  that  personal  acquaintance  with  the  author 
which  Mr.  Needliam  makes  practicable  to  any  reader  of  the  book.  The  compiler's  jiart 
of  it  is  llavored  with  his  own  fervid  spirit.  —  Standard,  Chicago. 

I  am  greatly  pleased  with  your  "  Life  and  Labors  of  C.  H.  .Spurgeon,"  being  by  far 
the  most  complete  and  comprehensive  volume  ever  published.  —  From  a  letter  b'y  an 
Euglisli  EranyeUat. 

The  work  is  replete  with  the  varied  and  remarkable  experiences,  miraculous  inter- 
positions, etc.  The  book  cannot  fail  to  be  interesting  and  valuable  to  preachers,  and  an 
excellent  and  healthy  volume  for  family  reading.  —  World's  Crisis. 

The  book  is  worthy  of  a  place  in  the  lil)rary  of  all  who  like  ecclesiastical  or  philan 
thropical  biography.  —  Rochester  yforniny  Herald. 

This  is  an  elegant  volume.  It  is  handsomely  jirinted  and  profusely  illustrated.— 
The  Occident,  San  Francisco. 

The  book  is  not  only  singularly  entertaining  from  l)eginning  to  end,  but  is  sure  to 
be  of  great  spiritual  profit  to  all  wlio  will  secure  the  i)riviTege  of  reading  it.  It  cannot 
fail  to  stimulate  every  Christian,  both  clergyman  and  layman.  —  St.  Louis  Presbyterian. 

It  is  a  wonderful  life  that  is  traced,  whose  story  can  hardly  be  told  at  all  without  a 
strong  and  good  effect.  The  author  works  in  full  sympathy  with  the  great,  genial,  and 
.inspiring  preacher  whose  career  he  traces.  —  X.  Y.  liidi  neiidcnt.  i 

Its  subject  is  a  remarkable  man  with  a  remarkable  history.  Think  of  the  cumula- 
tive power  for  good,  and  good  only,  in  such  a  life  as  this  !  —  X.  Y.  Obsen-er. 

This  has  been  a  labor  of  love  with  Mr.  Xeedham,  for  which  his  long  acquaintance 
and  intimate  sympathy  with  his  notable  subject  have  well  titted  him.  Cliristian  homes 
all  over  the  land  will  appreciate  this  addition  to  the  family  librai-y.  This  volume  is  a 
complete  recoi'd,  wholly  free  from  the  monotony  of  many  "biographies.  —  Watch  Tower. 

Mr.  .spurgeon  is  a  welcome  subject  for  a  book,  and  Mr.  Xeedham  has  succeeded  in 
Ills  attempt  at  a  portraiture  of  the  great  preacher  in  a  way  that  will  make  his  work  ac- 
ceptiible  to  the  great  Christian  public.  — Xorthern  Chriistian.  Advocate. 

We  can  heartily  recommend  this  book:  it  is  unusually  well  made  as  to  its  material 
and  mechanical  execution.    The  portraits  are  well  executed.  —  Chicayo  Witness. 

This  present  volume  is  an  exhaustive  narrative  of  Mr.  Spurgeon's  public  career, 
and  will  strongly  interest  all  classes  of  readers.  It  makes  a  large  anil  handsome 
volume,  and  is  fineh'  illustrated.  — Evening  Transcript,  Boston. 

A  magnificent  work,     (iives  an  inner  view  of  his  whole  life.  —  .S7.  Louis  Erangelist. 

This  is  a  capital  book  in  every  respect.  Capitid  in  its  mechanical  execution, 
binding,  paper,  type,  and  illustrations,  all  that  c;vn  be  desired,  and  is  worthy  a  place  on 
every  centi-e-t^ible.  Capital  in  its  theme,  for  it  presents  the  history  of  the  foremost 
preacher  and  most  se.ecessful  pastor  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Capital  in  the  clear- 
ness, simplicity,  literary  taste,  and  lidelity  to  the  truth  with  which  the  Evangelist  has 
narrated  the  .s'tory  of  a  renuirkable   Wii^'—  Truth,  St.   Louis.  —  Rer.  James  W.  Brooks. 

Sydney  Smith  thought  it  better  not  to  read  a  book  which  he  was  to  review :  reading 
it  miCdit  prcju'lice  his  ju<lj;ment.  In  this  case  we  ar.'  preiudiceil  by  the  appearance  of 
the  volume,  by  the  subject  and  by  the  name  of  the  author,  wlioni  we  highly  esteem. 
The  prejuilice  is  howexer  wliollv  favorable.  We  are  honoreil  by  being  so  favoral)ly 
presentetl  to  the  American  public',  ami  areamazeil  that  so  great  a  tome  can  be  compiled 
from  our  savings  ami  doinirs.  If  it  shall  stimulate  otliers  we  shall  be  content  to  liave 
been  tlius  b'igly  biographeil  during  lite.— .!/■;•.  Spuri/nm  himself  in  "  The  Sword  and 
Trowel." 

I  can  no  longer  <lelay  writing  to  thank  you  most  heartily  for  your  kindness.  I  ehall 
have  exceeding  great  joy  in  distributing  the  beautiful  books.  Ihe  books  are  a  truly 
magnificent  present. —  Airs.  C.  II.  S/iurf/eon. 

Address,  D.  L.  GUERNSEY,  61  CORNHILL,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


